PS 

69 

189 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
Shelf -Wfi- 

UNITED STATES OF AMEEICA 



1 



Ko. 93, 






English • Classic • Series 



^i9 — ' 




i -i-i-i-i-i-i-i -i--i-i- i- i --t-i||j 



r 



^^^^^^0^.,,,^ 






JWISTMINSTER ABBEY 



[HRISTMAS SKETtHES 



I 



-BY- 



Washington Irving. 



T_,_ l _|-|-|-|-|-| 



SB 



NEW YORK : 

Effingham Matnaed & Co., 

PUBLISHERS, 

TTl Broadway and 67 & 69 Ninth St. 



^ 



^ 



KELLOGG'S EDITIONS. 

Shakespeare's plays. 

Bacb plag in ®ne IDolume. 

Text Carefully Ezptirgated for Use in Mixed Classes. 

With Portrait, JYotes, Introduction to Shakespeare's Qrammar, 
Examination Papers^ and Plan of Study, 

(selected.) 

By BEAINEKD KELLOGG, A.M., 

Professor of the Engltth Language and Literature in the Brooklyn Polytechnic 

Institute, and author of a " Text-Booh on Rhetoric,'''' a " Text-Booh on 

English Literature,'*^ and one of the authors of Eeed <& 

Kellogg'' s " Lessons in English.^'' 



The notes have been especially prepared and selected, to meet the 
requirements of School and College Students, from editions by emi- l 

i nent English scholars. 

I We are confident that teachers who examine these editions will pro- \ 
nounce them better adapted to the wants of the class-room than any 1 
others published. Tliose are the only American Editions j 
of tliese Plays that have been carefully expurgated 
for use ill mixed classes. 

I Printed from larire type, attractively bound in cloth, and sold at 
nearly one half the price of other School Editions of Shakespeare. 

TJie following Plays, each in one 'Dolume, are now ready : 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 

JULIUS C>ESAR. 

MACBETH. 

TEMPEST. 

HAMLET. 

KING HENRY V. 

KING LEAR. 

OTHELLO. 



N 



KING HENRY IV., Part I. 
KING HENRY vlll. 
AS YOU LIKE IT. 
KING RICHARD III. 
A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'SJ 
DREAM. j 

A WINTER'S TALE. \ 

TWELFTH NIGHT. i 



Mailing price, 30 cents per copy. Special Price to Teachers, 



FuLi. Descriptive Catalogue sent on application. 



ENGLISH CLASSIC SERIES.— No. 93. 



Westminster Abbey 



AND 



Christmas Sketches. 



Westminster Abbey. 
Christmas Eve. 



Christmas Day. 

The Christmas Dinner. 



BY 



Washington Irving. 




,•■■"1 Q'^l 



^,f,.. ^'^^' <SsJ 






W^it^ Kntrotructots anlr Hrplanator^ Notes* 



NEW YORK : 

Effingham Maynard & Co., Publishees, 

771 BiiOADWAT ANT> 67 & 69 Ninth Street. 



iA\ 



V 



A Complete Course in the Study of English. 



spelling, Language, Grammar, Composition, Literature, 

REED'S Word Lessons-A Complete Speller. 
Reed's Introductory Language Work. 

Reed & Kellogg's Graded Lessons in English. 
Reed & Kellogg's Higher Lessons in English. 

Reed & Kellogg's One-Book Course in English. 
KELLOGG'S Text-Book on Rhetoric. 

Kellogg's Text-Book on English Literature. 



In the preparation of this series the authors have had one object 
clearly in view — to so develop the study of the English language as 
to present a complete, progressive course, from the Spelling-Bool^ to 
the study of English Literature. The troublesome contradictions 
which arise in using books arranged by different authors on these 
subjects, and which require much time for explanation in the school- 
room, will be avoided by the use of the above "Complete Course." 

Teachers are earnestly invited to examine these books. 

Effingham MayNARD & Co., Publishers, 

771 Broadway, New York. 



Copyright, 1891, 
By EFFINGHAM MAYNARD & CO. 



LITE OF lEVINa. 

Washington Irving, one of the earliest and most popular of Amer* 
ican authors, and of whom Thackeray happily spoke as " the first 
ambassador whom the New World of Letters sent to the Old," was 
born in New York City, in 1783. He received only a common-school 
education, leaving the school-room at sixteen, yet for many years 
afterward pursued a sj'stematic course of reading of the standard 
authors, especially Chaucer, Spenser, and Buuyan. In his boyhood 
days he seemed to have a natural talent for writing essays and stories. 
As he always detested mathematics, he often wrote compositions for 
his school-mates, and they^ in turn worked out his problems for him. 
lie studied law for a time, but not being inclined to submit to tbs 
aruagery of a profession, preferred to employ himself in rambling 
excursions around Manhattan Island, by which he became familiar 
with the beautiful scenery which he afterward made famous by his 
pen. Thus he acquired that minute knowledge of various historical 
locations, curious traditions, and legends, so beautifully made use of 
in his Sketch-Book and History of New York. In 1804, being threatened 
with pulmonary disease, he sailed for Europe, and remained abroad 
for nearly two years. On his return, he undertook to resume his legal 
practice, but without success. In company with others, he began the 
publication of a serial called " Salmagundi." It was well conducted, 
and proved successful. In 1809, he published his Knickerbocker'' s His- 
tory of New York, " the most unique, perfectly rounded, and elabor- 
ately sustained burlesque in our literature," He conducted a maga- 
zine in Philadelphia for two years, to which he contributed articles 
afterward included in the Sketch-Book. In 1814, he served as an aid 
to Governor Tompkins, and at the end of the war again went to 
Europe, where he continued to live for the next seventeen years. By 
the failure of his brother, he lost all his property, and having been 
thus thrown upon his own resources, he devoted himself to literature 
to earn a living. His Sketch-Book was published in 1819. By the per- 
sonal influence of Sir Walter Scott it was republished in London, and 
at once established Irving's reputation as a great author. 

3 



4 LIFE OF IRVIKG. 

His next works were Bracebridge Hall, published in 1823, and Tales of 
a Traveler, in 1824. Having been commissioned to make some transla- 
tions from the Spanish, he took up his residence in Madrid. To this 
residence in Spain we are indebted for some of his most charming 
works, as, Lije of Columbus, Conquest of Granada, The Alhanibra, Ma- 
homet and his Successors, and Spanish Papers. He returned to America 
in 1832. During the next ten years were published Astoi-ia, Adventures 
of Captain Bonneville, and Wolferfs Boost. In 1842, Irving was ap- 
pointed Mioister to Spain. His Life of Goldsmith was published four 
years later, after his return home. His last and most carefully written 
work was the Life of Washingto7i, in five volumes. 

Irving's last years were passed at '* Sunny side," his delightful resi- 
dence at Tarrytown, on the Hudson, in the midst of the beautiful 
scenes which he has immortalized. Irving died Nov. 28, 1859, the 
same year with Prescott, the historian, and Macaulay. A friend who 
saw much of our author in his latter days thus describes him : *' He 
had dark gray eyes, a handsome straight nose, which might perhaps 
be called large ; a broad, high, full forehead, and a small mouth. I 
should call him of medium height, about five feet and nine inches, 
and inclined to be a trifle stout. His smile was exceedingly genial, 
lightening up his whole face, and rendering it very attractive ; while if 
he were about to say any thing humorous, it would beam 5orth from 
his eyes even before his words were spoken." 

In one of his charming " Easy Chair" essays, George William Curtis 
says : — " Irving was as quaint a figure as the Diedrich Knickerbocker 
in the preliminary advertisement of i\\e History of Neio York. Thirty 
years ago he might have been seen on an autumnal afternoon, tripping 
with an elastic step along Broadway, with low quartered shoes neatly 
tied, and a Talma cloak — a short garment like the cape of a coat. 
There was a chirping, cheery, old school air in his appearance which 
was undeniably Dutch, and most harmonious with the association of 
his writing. He seemed, indeed, to Lave stepped out of his own 
books ; and the cordial grace and humor of his address, if he stopped 
for a passing chat, were delightfully characteristic. He was then cur 
most famous man of letters, but he was simply free from ail self-CQU- 
BCiQUSness and sissumption and dogmatisw." 



" Washington Irvini;- ! Why, gentlemen, I don't go upstairs to bed 
two nights out of the seven without taking Washington Irving under 
my arm. ' ' — Cha dcs Vickeus. 

" I know of no books which are oftener lent than those that bear 
the pseudonym of 'Geoffrey Crayon.' Few, very few, can show a 
long succession so pure, so graceful, and so varied, as Mr. Irving. "— 
Mary JRussell Mitford. 

"■ Rich and original humor, great refinement of feeling and delicacy 
of sentiment. Style accurately finished, easy, and transparent. Ac- 
curate observer : his descriptions are correct, animated, and beauti- 
ful."— (^eorv/e y6»'. Millard. 

*' If he wishes to study a style which possesses the characteristic 
beauties of Addison's, its ease, simplicity, and elegance, with greater 
accuracy, point, and spirit, let him give his days and nights to the vol- 
umes of Irving." — Edward EvereWs Advice to a Student. 



" He seems to have been born with a rare sense of literary propor- 
tion and form ; into this, as into a mold, were run his apparently 
lazy and really acute observations of life. That he thoroughly mas- 
tered such literature as he fancied there is abundant evidence ; that 
his style was influenced by the purest English models is also apparent. 
But there remains a large margin for wonder how, with his want of 
training, he could have elaborated a style which is distinctly his own, 
and is as copious, felicitous in the choice of words, flowing, spontane- 
ous, flexible, engaging, clear, and as little Avearisome when read con- 
tinuously in quantity as any in the English tongue." — C. D. Warner. 



*' In his family, gentle, generous, good-humored, affectionate, self- 
denying ; in society, a delightful example of complete gentleman- 
hood ; quite unspoiled by prosperity ; never obsequious to the great; 
eager to acknowledge every contemporary's merit ; always kind and 
affable with the young members of his calling : in his professional 
bargains and mercantile dealinsrs delicately honest and grateful. He 
Was, at the same time, one of the most charming masters of our 
lighter language ; the constant friend to us and our nation ; to men oj 
lettei's doubly dear, not for his wit and genius merely, but as an ex, 
emplar of goodness, probity, and a pure life. "—W/i. M. Thackeray. 



HEFERENCEg. 

For full particulars concerning Irving's personal and literary career, 
the student is referred to Curtis's Horms of Ametncan Authors, Duy- 
ekinck's American Literature, Tuckerman's Sketch, and Bryant's Ora- 
tion, delivered a few years ago, and since republished in a volume of 
essays. Read also the Life of Irvhig in Hill's series of Great American 
Authors, and an essay by Charles D. Warner, originally printed in the 
Atlantic, for March, 1880, and since revised and published as the first 
volume of American Men of Letters, a series of biographies of eminent 
American authors. 

Studies of Irving is a little book containing the essays by Warner and 
Bryant, and Personal Remi7iiscences, by George P. Putnam. An ex- 
haustive biography of Irving has been written by his nephew, Pierre 
Irving. 

PRINCIPAL WRITINGS. 

Sketch-Book ; History of New York ; Bracebridge Hall ; Tales of a 
Traveler ; Life of Columbus ; Conquest of Granada ; Alhambra ; Tour 
of the Prairies ; Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey ; Astoria ; Adven- 
tures of Captain Bonneville ; Life of Goldsmith ; Life of Washington. 



SELECTIONS TO READ. 

The student is advised to begin with the Skeich-Book. The follow- 
ing are some of the best sketches : 

1. The Wife. 2. Rip Van Winkle. 3. Rural Life in England. 4. 
The Broken Heart. 5. The Widow and her Son. 6. The Mutability 
of Literature. 7. Westminster Abbey. 8. Christmas. 9. Christmas 
Eve. 10. Christmas Day. 11. The Christmas Dinner. 12. The Pride 
of the Village. 13. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. 

After the Sketch-Book, the whole or certain chapters of the Life of 
Goldsmith may be read, especially in connection with the study of 
Goldsmith's text. Sketches similar to those in the Sketch-Book may be 
found in Bracebridge Hall, Traveler, Crayon Miscdlany, and other vol- 
umes. Certain chaptei-s in Knickerbocker'' s History of New York will be 
found very Interesting. 



li^TRODIJCTION. 

"Westminster Abbey, as the coronation cliurch of the sover- 
eigns of England from the time of Harold, and on account of its 
proximity to the seat of English government, has acquired a fame 
and importance which in a certain sense outvie those of St. Paul's. 
It occupies the site of a chapel built by Siebert, in honor of St. 
Peter, on a slightly elevated spot of London rising from the marshy 
ground bordering the Thames. A church of greater pretensions 
was erected by King Edward about 980 ; but, this church being 
partly demolished by the Danes, Edward the Confessor founded 
within the precincts of his palace an abbey and church in the 
Norman style of architecture, which was completed in 1065, and 
of which there now only remain the pyx house to the south of 
the abbey, the substructure of the dormitory, and the south side 
of the cloisters. The rebuilding of the church was commenced 
in 1220 by Henry HI., who erected the choir and transepts, and 
also a lady chapel, which was removed to make way for the 
chapel of Henry VII. The building was practically completed 
by Edward I., but the greater part of the nave in the Transition 
style of architecture, and various other improvements, were 
added down to the time of Henry YIL, including the west end 
of the nave, the deanery, portions of tlie cloisters, and the Jerusa- 
lem chamber ; while the two towers at the west end were erected 
by that famous architect, Sir Christopher Wren, Avho had no 
proper appreciation of Gothic architecture. The length of the 
church, including Henry VII. 's chapel, is 531 feet, or, excluding 
it, 416 feet ; the breadth of the transepts, 203 feet ; the height of 
the church, 102 feet, and of the towers 225 feet. The choir, 
where the coronation of English sovereigns takes place, is a fine 
specimen of Early English, with decorations added in the 14th 
century, and contains among other tombs those of Siebert, king 
of the East Saxons, Anne of Cleves, and Edmund Crouch back, 

7 



O INTRODUCTION". 

earl of Leicester. The north transept is occupied principally 
with monuments of warriors and statesmen, and, in the south 
transept, the " poet's corner" contains memorials of most of the 
great English writers from Chaucer to Thackeray and Dickens. 
The nave with its clustered columns, its beautiful triforium, and 
its lofty and finely proportioned roof, is the most impressive por- 
tion of the interior. The monuments in its north and south aisles 
are of a very miscellaneous character, and commemorate musi- 
cians, men of science, travellers, patriots, and adventurers. The 
monuments in the chapels of St. Benedict, St. Edmund, St. Nich- 
olas, St. Paul, St. Erasmus, St. John the Baptist, and the Abbot 
Islip are chiefly to ecclesiastics and members of the nobility. 
Henry VII. 's chapel, which is remarkable for the fretted vault- 
work of the roof, with its magical fan tracery, contains beside 
the monument of Henry VII. the tombs of many English sover- 
eigns and their children, and also of various other personages of 
historic fame. In the chapel of Edward the Confessor are the 
shrine of Edward the Confessor, in Purbeck marble, the altar 
tomb of Edward I., the coronation chair of the English sover- 
eigns, and the stone of Scone, the old coronation seat of the Scot- 
tish kings. In the chapter-house (1250) the meetings of the 
Commons took place before they were transferred to St. Steph- 
en's Chapel ; and in the Jerusalem chamber (1376-86), where 
Edward V. is said to have been born and Henry IV. was brought 
to die, the sittings of the lower house of convocation of the prov- 
ince of Canterbury are now held. 

The Jerusalem Chamber is so called probably from its old 
tapestries or pictures of the history of Jerusalem. Originally 
this was but a with-dawing room or guest-chamber of the abbot, 
opening on one side into the abbot's refectory, and on the other 
into his garden. 

The communion-table in Westminster is the only one in Eng- 
land which has any authoritative claim to the name of "altar." 




HHT 








pijf " 




"*"*^ 




fajp^^ 


Fix. 


■ l&rJU^ 


itfeo 


K A 8 T. 


D a r K 


C lot, t 


e r 9. 




Plan of Westminster Abbey. 



General Entrance. 

Poets' Corner. 

St. Blaize's Chapel. 

South Aisle of Choir. 

South Aisle of Nave. 

North Aisle of Nave. 

New Screen. 

North of Choir. 

West Aisle of North Transept. 

East Aisle of North Transept. 

Islip's Chapel. 

St. John the Baptist's. 

St. Paul's. 



14. Abbot Ware's Mosaic Pavement. 

15. Edwai-d the Confessor's Chapel 

and Shrine. 

16. Porcn to Heniy VII. 's Chapel. 

17. Henry VII. 's Tomb. 

18. North Aisle of Henry VII. 's Chapel. 

19. South Aisle of Henry VII. 's Chapel. 

20. St. Nicholas's Chapel. 

21. St. Edmund's. 

22. St. Benedict's. 

23. Jerusalem Chamber. 

24. College ;formerly Abbey) Dining- 

hall. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

When I beheld, with deep astonishment, 
To famous Westminster how there resorte, 
Living in brasse or stony monument, 
The princes and the worthies of all sorte; 
Doe not I see reformde nobilitie, 
Without contempt, or pride, or ostentation, 
And looke upon offenseless majesty, 
Naked of pomp or earthly domination ? 
And how a play-game of a painted stone 
Contents the quiet now and silent sprites, 
Whome all the world which late the.y stood upon, 
Could not content nor quench their appetites. 

Life is a frost of cold felicitie, 

And death the thaw of all our vanitie. 

Christ olero''s Epigrams, by T, B., 1598. 

On one of those sober and rather melanchcly days in the 
latter part of autumn, when the shadows of morning and 
evening almost mingle together, and throw a gloom over the 
decline of the year, I passed several hours in rambling about 
Westminster Abbey. There was something congenial to the 
season in the mournful magnificence of the old pile ; and as I 
passed its threshold, it seemed like stepping back into the re- 
gions of antiquity, and losing myself among the shades of 
former ages. 

I entered from the inner court of Westminster school, 
through a long, low, vaulted passage, that had an almost sub- 
terranean look, being dimly lighted in one part by circular 
perforations in the massive walls. Through' this dark avenue, 
I had a distant view of the cloisters,^ with the figure of an old 
verger, Mn his black gown, moving along their shadowy vaults, 

1. The cloisters.— The cloisters were begun by the Confessor and finished 
shortly after the Conquest. They were the place of recreation, gossip, in- 
tercourse and business for the monastic community. 

2. Vei'ger.— The official who takes caie of the church building, 

11 



12 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

and seeming like a specter from one of the neighboring tombs. 

The approach to the abbey through these gloomy monastic 
remains, prepares the mind for its solemn contemplation. 
The cloister still retains something of the quiet and seclusion 
of former days. The gray walls ^ are discolored by damps, and 
crumbling with age ; a coat of hoary moss has gathered over 
the inscriptions of the mural monuments,* and obscured the 
death's heads, ^ and other funeral emblems. The sharp touches 
of the chisel are gone from the rich tracery of the arches ; the 
roses which adorned the key-stones ® have lost their leafy 
beauty ; everything bears marks of the gradual dilapidations 
of time, which yet has something touching and pleasing in its 
very decay. 

The sun was pouring down a yellow autumnal ray into the 
square of the cloisters ; beaming upon a scanty plot of grass 
in the center, and lighting up an angle of the vaulted passage 
with a kind of dusky splendor. From between the arcades, 
the eye glanced up to a bit of blue sky, or a passing cloud ; 
and beheld the sun-gilt pinnacles of the abbey towering '' into 
the azure heaven. 

As I paced the cloisters, sometimes contemplating this min- 
gled picture of glory and decay, and sometimes endeavoring 
to decipher the inscriptions on the tombstones, which formed 
the pavement beneath my feet, my eyes were attracted to 
three figures, rudely carved in relief, but nearly worn away 
by the footsteps of many generations. They were the efiigies ® 



3. The gray walls. — " There is one religious structure in the kingdom 
that stands in its original finishing, exhibiting all those modest hues that 
the native appearance of the stone so pleasingly bestows. This structure is 
the Abbey Church of Westminster. . . . There I find my happiness theniost 
complete. This church has not been whitewashed.'''' — John Carter, Gent. 
Mag., 1799. 

4. Mural iiionument.s.— The various memorials about the walls. 

5. Death's heads.— Naked human skulls personifying death. 

6. Key-stones. — The key- stone is the topmost stone of an arch. 

7. Towering.— The spires of Westminster were 225 feet high. 

8. Effigies.— It was once a feature of the great funerals to have a waxen 
effigy of the deceased person on a platform highly decoi-ated with black 
hangings. It remained for a mouth in the abbey, near the grave; but in 
the case of sovereigns a much longer time. The effigies here refen-ed to 
are, of course, of stone. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



13 



of three of tlie early abbots ; ^ the epitaphs were entirely effaced; 
the names alone remained, having no doubt been renewed in 
later times ; (Vitalis. Abbas. 1082, and Gislebertus Crispinns. 
Abbas. 1114, and Laurentius. Abbas. 1176.) I remained some 
little while, musing over these casual relics of antiquity, thus 
left like wrecks upon tliis distant shore of time, telling no tale 
but that such beings had been and had 
perished ; teaching no moral but the futility 
of that pride which hopes still to exact 
homage in its ashes, and to live in an in- 
scription. A little longer, and even these 
faint records will be obliterated, and the 
monument will cease to be a memorial. 
Whilst I was yet looking down upon the 
gravestones, I was roused by the sound of 
the abbey clock, reverberating from buttress 
to buttress, and echoing among the clois- 
ters. It is almost startling to hear this 
warning of departed time sounding among 
the tombs, and telling the lapse of the hour, 
which, like a billow, has rolled us onward 
towards the grave. 

I pursued my walk to an arched door 
opening to the interior of the abbey. On 
entering here, the magnitude of the build- 
ing breaks fully upon the mind, contrasted 
with the vaults of the cloisters. The eye 
gazes with wonder at clustered columns 
of gigantic dimensions, with arches spring- 
ing from them to such an amazing 
height ; and man wandering about their 
bases, shrunk into insigniticance in comparison with Ms own 
handi-work. The spaciousness and gloom of this vast edifice 




Henry UI. 
(From his tomb in 
Westminster Abbey, 
London.) 



9 Tliree of the early abbots Irving really mentions four: Vitalis, 

Gislebert, Crispin, and Laurence. These were Norman abbots. In Yitalis's 
time the first history of (lie abbey was written by one of the monks Sulcaid. 
Lauience procured from the Pope the canonization of the Confessor. 



14 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

produce a profound and mysterious awe. We step cautiously 
and softly about, as if fearful of disturbing the hallowed si- 
lence of the tomb ; while every footfall w^hispers along the 
walls, and chatters among the sepulchres, making us more 
sensible of the quiet we have interrupted. 

It seems as if the awful nature of the place presses down 
upon the soul, and hushes the beholder into noiseless rever- 
ence. We feel that we are surrounded by the congregated 
bones of the great men of past times, who have filled history 
with their deeds, and the earth with their renown. And yet 
it almost provokes a smile at the vanity of human ambition, 
to see how they are crowded together, and jostled in the dust; 
what parsimony is observed in doling out a scanty nook— a 
gloomy corner — a little portion of earth, to those w^hom, when 
alive, kingdoms could not satisfy: and how many shapes, and 
forms, and artifices, are devised to catch the casual notice of 
the passenger, and save from forgetfulness, for a few short 
years, a name which once aspired to occupy ages of the world's 
thought and admiration. 

I passed some time in Poet's Corner, ^^ which occupies an end 
of one of the transepts or cross aisles of the abbey. The mon- 
uments are generally simple ; for the lives of literary men 
afford no striking themes for a sculptor. Shakespeare " and 



10. Poet's corner.— This is the name applied to the Southern transept. 
It derived its origin from the death of Chaucer who died while Clerk of the 
Royal Works in the palaces of Westminster and W^indsor. He was ap- 
pointed by Richard II., and although he held the office but twenty months 
it evidently gave him a place in the royal household that was not forgotten 
at his death. 

11, Shakespeare died April 23, 1616, and was buried at Stratford. 

Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh 

To learned Chaucer : and rare Beaumont lie 

A little nearer Spenser, to make i-oom 

For Shakespeare in your three-fold four-fold tomb. 

To this Ben Jonson replies : 

My Shakespeare rise, I wnll not lodge thee by 
Chaucer or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie 
A little farther off to make thee room. 
Thou art a monument without a tomb, 
And art alive still while thy book doth live, 
And we have wits to read,' and praise to give. 

The attempt was never made to " move his bones," nor was his monument 
erected till 1740. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 15 

Addison '^ have statues erected to their memories ; but the 
greater part have busts, medallions, and sometimes mere in- 
scriptions. Notwithstanding the simplicity of these memori- 
als, I have always observed that the visitors to the abbey 
remain longest about them. A kinder and fonder feeling 
takes place of that cold curiosity or vague admiration with 
which they gaze on the splendid monuments of the great and 
the heroic. They linger about these as about the tombs of 
friends and companions ; for indeed there is something of 
companionship between the author and the reader. Other 
men are known to posterity only through the medium of his- 
tory, which is continually growing faint and obscure; but the 
intercourse between the author and his fellow-men is ever 
• new, active, and immediate. He has lived for them more 
than for himself ; he has sacrificed surrounding enjoyments, 
and shut himself up from the delights of social life, that he 
might the more intimately commune with distant minds and 
distant ages. "Well may the world cherish his renown ; for it 
has been purchased, not by deeds of violence and blood, but 
by the diligent dispensation of pleasure. Well may posterity 
be grateful to his memory ; for he has left it an inheritance, " 
not of empty names and sounding actions, but whole treas- 
ures of wisdom, bright gems of thought, and golden veins of 
language. 

From Poet's Corner I continued my stroll towards that 
part of the abbey which contains the sepulchres '^ of the kings, 
I wandered among what once were chapels, but w^hich are 
now occupied by the tombs and monuments of the great. At 
every turn, I met with some illustrious name, or the cogni- 
zance of some powerful house renowned in history. As the 
eye darts into these dusky chambers of death, it catches 

12. Addison.— Joseph Addison died June 17, 1719. His body lay in state 
in the Jerusalem chamber, and was borne thence to the abbey at dead of 
night. The choir sang a funeral hymn, and Bishop Atterbury met the 
corpse and led the procession by torch-light to the chapel of Henry VII. 
It was not till 1808 that a memorial was erected. It represents Addison 
clad in his dressing-gown and freed from his wig, stepping from his parlor 
at Chelsea into his trim little garden with his work for the next day's Spec- 
tator just finished. 

13. Sepulchre of the kings.— See illustration. 



16 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



glimpses of quaint effigies : some kneeling '* in niches, as if in 
devotion ; others stretched upon the tombs, with hands piously 

pressed together ; warriors in 
armor, as if reposing after 
battle ; prelates, with crosiers 
and mitres ; and nobles in 
robes and coronets, lying as it 
were in state. In glancing 
over this scene, so strangely 
populous, yet where every 
form is so still and silent, it 
seems almost as if we were 
treading a mansion of that 
fabled city where every being 
had been suddenly trans- 
muted into stone. 

I paused to contemplate a 
tomb on which lay the effigy 
of a knight in complete armor. 
A large buckler was on one-- 
arm ; the hands were pressed 
together in supplication upon 
the breast ; the face was 
almost covered by the mori- 
on ; the legs were crossed in 
token of the warrior's having 
been engaged in the holy 
war. It was the tomb of a crusader; of one of those 
military enthusiasts, who so strangely mingled religion and 
romance, and whose exploits form the connecting link 
between fact and fiction— between the history and the 
fairy tale. There is something extremely picturesque in the 
tombs of these adventurers, decorated as they are with rude 
armorial bearings and Gothic sculpture. They comport with 
the antiquated chapels in which they are generally found; and 




Richard II. 

(Jerusalem Chamber, Westmiuster 
Abbey.) 



14. Some kneeling. See illustration, p. 17. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



17 



in considering them, the imagination is apt to kindle with 
the legendary associations, the romantic fictions, the chival- 
rous pomp and pageantry, which poetry has spread over the 
wars for the Sepulchre of Christ. ^^ They are the relics of times 
utterly gone by ; of beings passed from recollection ; of cus- 
toms and manners with which ours have no affinity. They 
are like objects from some strange 
and distant land of which we have 
no certain knowledge, and about 
which all our conceptions are vague 
and visionary. There is something 
extremely solemn and awful in those 
effigies on Gothic tombs, extended 
as if in the sleep of death, or in 
the supplication of the dying hour. 
They have an effect infinitely more 
impressive on my feelings than the 
fanciful attitudes, the over-wrought 
conceits, and allegorical groups, 
which abound on modern monu- 
ments. I have been struck, also, 
with the superiority of many of the 
old sepulchral inscriptions. There 
was a noble way, in former times, 
of saying things simply, and yet 
saying them proudly : and I do ont 
know an epitaph that breathes a 
loftier consciousness of family worth and honorable lineage, 
than one which affirms, of a noble house, that "all the 
brothers were brave, and all the sisters virtuous." 
In the opposite transept to Poet's Corner, stands a monu- 




Edward III. 
(From portrait, Painted 
Chamber, Westminster.) 



15. Wars for the sepulchre of Christ.— The crusades. From an eaiiy 
period in the history of the church it was considered a pious act to make a 
pilgrimag:e to the Holj- Sepulchre, and to visit the spots consecrated by the 
presence of the Saviour, but it was not until about the end of the 11th 
century that an organized expedition, known as the first of the seven cru- 
sades, started for the Holy Laud. 



18 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

ment which is among the most renowned achievements^" of 
modern art ; but which, to me, appears horrible rather than 
sublime. It is the tomb of Mrs. Nightingale," by Koubillac. 
The bottom of tlie monument is represented as throwing open 
its marble doors, and a sheeted skeleton is starling forth. 
The shroud is falling from his fleshless frame as he launches 
his dart at his victim. She is sinking into her affrighted hus- 
band's arms, w^ho strives, with vain and frantic effort, to avert 
the blow. The whole is executed with terrible truth and spirit; 
we almost fancy w^e hear the gibbering yell of triumph, burst- 
ing" from the distended jaws of the spectre. — But wdiy should 
we thus seek to clothe death w-ith unnecessary terrors, and to 
spread horrors round the tomb of those we love ? The grave 
should be surrounded by every thing that might inspire ten- 
derness and veneration for the dead ; or that might win the 
living to virtue. It is the place, not of disgust and dismay, 
but of sorrow and meditation. 

"While wandering about these gloomy vaults and silent aisles, 
studying the records of the dead, the sound of busy existence 
from without occasionally reaches the ear : — the rumbling of 
the passing equipage ; the murmur of the multitude ; or per- 
haps the light laugh of pleasure. The contrast is striking 
with the deathlike repose around ; and it has a strange effect 
upon the feelings, thus to hear the surges of active life hurry- 
ing along and beating against the very walls of the sepulchre. 

I continued in this way to move from tomb to tomb, and 
from chapel to chapel. The day was gradually wearing away ; 
the distant tread of loiterers about the abbey grew less and 
less frequent ; the sweet-tongued bell was summoning to even- 



16. RenoAvnecl acliievenieiits.— Tf wa'^ when wnrkina: on the fig'nre of 
Death in this famous structure that R ubillac one day at dinner suddenly 
dropped his knife and fork on his plate, fell back in his chair, and then 
darted forwards and threw his features into the strongest possible expres- 
sion of fear. A tradition of the abbey records that a robber, coming into 
the abbey by moonlight, was so startled by the same figure as to have fled 
in dismay. 

17. Mrs. NiglitingaliB. — This is known as one of the 'monuments of 
mourners." It was raised in 1T.S4 by her son, to commemorate the prem- 
ature death of Lady Elizabeth Shirley, wife of Joseph Gascoigne Nightin- 
gale. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 19 

ing prayers ; and I saw at a distance the choristers, in their 
white snrplices, crossing the aisle and entering the choir. I 
stood before the entrance to Henry the Seventh's chapel.'® A 
flight of steps leads up to it, through a deep and gloomy, but 
magnificent arch. Great gates of brass, richly and delicately 
wrought, turn heavily upon their hinges, as if proudly reluc- 
tant to admit the feet of common mortals into this most gor- 
geous of sepulchres. 

On entering, the eye is astonished by the pomp of archi- 
tecture, and the elaborate beauty of sculptured detail. The 
very walls are wrought into universal ornament, encrusted 
with tracery, and scooped into niches, crowded with the 
statues of saints and martyrs. Stone seems, by the cunning 
labor of the chisel, to have been robbed of its weight and 
density, suspended aloft, as if by magic, and the fretted roof 
achieved with the wonderful miuuteness and airy security of 
a cobweb. 

Along the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls of the 
Knights of the Bath,'^ richly carved of oak, though with the 
grotesque decorations of Gothic architecture. On the pinna- 
cles of the stalls are affixed the helmets and crests of the 
knights, with their scarfs and swords ; and above them are 

18 Henry the Seventli's chapel.— Henry VII. determined to found at 
Westminster a clianel moie magiiificent than thai he had designed at 
Windso'", a .ereater than the Contessor's siirine, '"in order," according- to his 
will. " right shortly to translate into the same the body and leliques of his 
uncle of blissful memory, Kintr Henry VI., " but the chapel became the 
chapel not of Henry VI. l)ut of Henry VII. It is the most signal conti-ast 
hetween his closeness in life and " his magnificerce in the structures he hath 
left to posterity." His pi-ide in its grandeur uas commemorated by the 
ship, vast for those times, which he built, "of equal cost with his chapel, 
which afterwards, in the reign of Mary, sank in the sea and vanished in a 
moment. 

19. Knij>-ht.s of the Bath.— In tlie reign of George I. a permanent 
change was effectf-d in one of the accompaniments of the cori'tiation : — 
namely, the Knights of the Bath. In the earlier coronations it had been the 
practice of the sovereigns to ci-eate a number of knights before they started 
on their pi ocession from the tower. These knights, being made in time of 
peace, were not em-olled in any existing order, and for a long time had no 
special desi nation ; but, inasnnich as one of the foremost, striking and 
ciiaracteiistic parts of thnir admi'-siin was the complete attention of their 
persons on the vigil of their knighthood, as an emblem of the cleanliness 
atid purity of their future pi-ofession. they wei-e called Knights of the Bath. 
The king himself bathed with them, they were completelv undressed, 
placed in large baths and then wrapped in'soft blankets. The distinctive 
name first appears in the time of ITeiiiy V. 



30 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

suspended their banners, emblazoned with armorial bearings, 
and contrasting the splendor of gold and purple and crimson, 
with the cold gray fretwork of the roof. In the midst of this 
grand mausoleum stands the sej)ulchre of its founder, — his 
effigy, with that of his queen, extended on a sumptuous tomb, 
and the whole surrounded by a superbly wrought brazen rail- 
ing. 

There is a sad dreariness in this magnificence ; this strange 
mixture of tombs and trophies ; these emblems of living and 
aspiring ambition, close beside mementos which show the dust 
and oblivion in which all must sooner or later terminate. 
Nothing impresses the mind with a deeper feeling of loneli- 
ness, than to tread the silent and deserted scene of former 
throng and pageant. On looking round on the vacant stalls 
on the knights and their esquires, and on the rows of dusty 
but gorgeous banners that were once borne before them, my 
imagination conjured up the scene when this hall was bright 
with the valor and beauty of the land ; glittering with the 
splendor of jewelled rank and military array ; alive with the 
tread of many feet, and the hum of an admiring multitude. 
All had passsd away ; the silence of death had settled again 
upon the place ; interrupted only by the casual chirping of 
birds, which had found their way into the chapel, and built 
their nests among its friezes and pendants — sure signs of soli- 
tariness and desertion. When I read the names inscribed on 
the banners, they were those of men scattered far and wide 
about the world ; some tossing upon distant seas ; some under 
arms in distant lands ; some mingling in the busy intrigues of 
courts and cabinets ; all seeking to deserve one more distinc- 
tion in this mansion of shadowy honors — the melancholy re- 
ward of a monument. 

Two small aisles on each side of this chapel present a 
touching instance of the equality of the grave, which brings 
down the oppressor to a level with the oppressed, and min- 
gles the dust of the bitterest enemies together. In one is the 
sepulchre of the haughty Elizabeth ; ^° in the other is that of 

20. Hauglity Elizabeth.— Queen E'izabeth died March 24, and was bur- 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 2J 

her victim, the lovely and unfortunate Mary.^^ Not an hour in 
the day, but some ejaculation of pity is uttered over the fate 
of the latter, mingled with indignation at her oppressor. The 
walls of Elizabeth's sepulchre continually echo with the sighs 
of sympathy heaved at the grave of her rival. 

A peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle where Mary 
lies buried. The light struggles dimly through windows 
darkened by dust. The greater part of the place is in deep 
shadow, and the walls are stained and tinted by time and 
weather. A marble figure of Mary is stretched upon the 
tomb, round which is an iron railing, much corroded, bearing 
her national emblem — the thistle. I was weary with wander- 
ing, and sat down to rest myself by the monument, revolving 
in my mind the checkered and disastrous story of poor Mary. 

The sound of casual footsteps had ceased from the abbey. 
I could only hear, now andtthen, the distant voice of the priest 
repeating the evening service, and the faint responses of the 
choir ; these paused for a time, and all was hushed. The 
stillness, the desertion and obscurity that were gradually pre- 
vailing around, gave a deeper and more solemn interest to the 
place : 

For in the silent grave no conversation, 
No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers, 
No careful father's counsel— nothing's heard, 
For nothing is, but all oblivion, 
Dust, and an endless darkness. 

led April 28, 1603. From Richmond Palace, where she died, the body was 
brought by the Thames to Westminster : 

The queen did come by water to Whitehall, 

The oais at every stroke did tears let fall. 
With these and other like exaggerations, which, however, indicate the ex- 
cess of tlie national mourning, she was laid in the abbey. '"The city of 
AVestniinster was surcharged with multitudes of all sorts of people, in their 
streets, houses, windows, leads and gutters, that came to see the obsequy: 
aud when they beheld her statue or picture lying u|)on the head thereof, 
and a ball and scepter in either hand, there was such a general sighing, 
groaning, and weeping, as the like has not been seen or known in the mem- 
ory of man ; neither doth any history mention any people, time or state to 
make like lamentation for the death of their soveieign.'"— Sfo?o. 

21. Mary Queen of ficots was executed in 1587, and transferred from 
Peterborough in 1606. The lettei- is still extant, and now hangs above the 
site of her grave at Peterborough, in which James I. ordered the removal 
of her bod\ to the spot where he had commanded a memorial of her to be 
be made in the Church of Westminster, '• in the place where the kings and 
queens of this realm are commonly interred," that the '• like honor might 
be done to the body of his dearest mother, and the like monument be ex- 
tant to her, that had been done to his dear sister, the late Queen EUzabeth." 



22 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

Suddenly the notes of the deep-laboring organ burst upon 
the ear, falling with doubled and redoubled intensity, and 
rolling, as it were, huge billows of sound. How well do their 
volume and grandeur accord with this mighty building ! With 
what pomp do they swell through its vast vaults, and breathe 
their awful harmony through these caves of death, and make 
the silent sepulchre vocal ! — And now they rise in triumphant 
acclamation, heaving higher and higher their accordant 
notes, and piling sound on sound.— And now they pause, and 
the soft voices of the choir break out into sweet gushes of 
melody ; they soar aloft, and warble along the roof, and seem 
to play about these lofty vaults like the pure airs of heaven. 
Again the pealing organ heaves its thrilling thunders, com- 
pressing air into music, and rolling it forth upon the soul. 
What long-drawn cadences ! What solemn sweeping concords ! 
It grows more and more dense and, powerful — it fills the vast 
pile, and seems to jar the very walls — the ear is stunned— the 
senses are overwhelmed. And now it is winding up in full 
jubilee — it is rising from the earth to heaven — the very soul 
seems rapt away, and floated upwards on this swelling tide of 
harmony ! 

I sat for some time lost in that kind of reverie which a 
strain of music is apt sometimes to inspire : the shadows of 
evening were gradually thickening around me: the monu- 
ments began to cast deeper and deeper gloom ; and the distant 
clock again gave token of the slowly waning day. 

I arose, and prepared to leave the abbey. As I descended 
the flight of steps which lead into the body of the building, 
my eye was caught by the shrine of Edward the Confessor, 
and I ascended the small staircase that conducts to it, to take 
from thence a general survey of this wilderness of tombs. 
The shrine is elevated upon a kind of platform, and close 
around it are the sepulchres of various kings and queens. 
From this eminence the eye looks down between pillars and 
funeral trophies to the chapels and chambers below, crowded 
with tombs ; where warriors, prelates, courtiers, and states- 
men, lie mouldering in "their beds of darkness." Close by 



WESTMINSTEE ABBEY. 



23 



me stood th great chair of coronation, rudely carved of oak, 
ill the barbarous taste of a remote and Gothic age. The scene 
seemed almost as if contrived, with theatrical artifice, to pro- 
duce an effect upon the beholder. Here was a type of the 
beginning and the end of human pomp and power ; here it 
was literally but a step from the throne to the sepulchre. 
Would not one think that these incongruous mementos had 
been gathered together as a lesson to living greatness ? — to 
show it, even in the moment of its proudest exaltation, the 
neglect and dishonor to which it must soon arrive ? how: soon 
that crown which encircles its brow 
must pass away ; and it must lie 
down in the dust and disgraces of 
the tomb, and be trampled upon by 
the feet of the meanest of the mul- 
titude ? For, strange to tell, even the 
grave is here no longer a sanctuary. 
There is a shocking levity in some 
natures, which leads them to sport 
v/ith awful and hallowed things ; and 
there are base minds, w^hicli delight 
to revenge on the illustrious dead 
the abject homage and gro veiling- 
servility which they pay to the living. 
The coffin of Edward the Confessor 
has been broken open, and his re- 
mains despoiled of their funeral orna- 
ments ; the scepter has been stolen from the hand of the im- 
perious Elizabeth, and the effigy of Henry the Fifth lies head- 
less. Not a royal monument but bears some proof how false 
and fugitive is the homage of mankind. Some are plundered, 
some mutilated ; some covered with ribaldry and insult— all 
more or less outraged and dishonored ! 

The last beams of day were now faintly streaming through 
the painted windows in the high vaults above me ; the lower 
parts of the abbey were already wrapped in the obscurity of 
twilight. The chapels and aisles grew darker and darker. 




Coronation Chair. 
(In Westuiinster Abbey.) 



24 



WESTMINSTER ABBEYo 



The effigies of the kings faded into shadows ; the marble fig- 
ures of the monuments assumed strange shapes in the uncer- 
tain light ; the evening breeze crept through the aisles like the 
cold breath of the grave ; and even the distant footfall of a 
verger, traversing the Poet's Corner, had something strange 
and dreary in its sound. I slowly retraced my morning's walk, 
and as I passed out at the portal of the cloisters, the door, 

closing with a jarring noise be- 
hind me, filled the whole build- 
ing with echoes. 

I endeavored to form some 
arrangement in my mind of the 
objects I had been contemplating, 
but found they were already fall- 
ing into indistinctness and con- 
fusion. Names, inscriptions, 
trophies, had all become con- 
founded in my recollection, 
though I had scarcely taken my 
foot from off the threshold. 
What, thought I, is this vast as- 
semblage of sepulchres but a 
treasury of humiliation ; a huge 
pile of reiterated homilies on the 
emptiness of renown, and the cer- 
tainty of oblivion ? It is, indeed 
the empire of Death; his great 
shadowy palace; where he sits 
in state, mocking at the relics of human glory, and spreading 
dust and forgetfulness on the monuments of princes. How 
idle a boast, after all, is the immortality of a name ! Time is 
ever silently turning over his pages; we are too much en- 
grossed by the story of the present, to think of the characters 
and anecdotes that give interest to the past ; and each age is 
a volume thrown aside to" be speedily forgotten. The idol of 
to-day pushes the hero of yesterday out of our recollection ; 
and will, in turn, be supplanted by his successor of to-morrow\ 




Earl of Chatham. 

(From his monument, West 

minster Abbey,) 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 25 

" Our fathers," says Sir Thomas Brown, " find their graves in 
our short memories, and sadly tell us how we may be buried 
in our survivors." History fades into fable ; fact becomes 
clouded with doubt and controversy ; the inscription moulders 
from the tablet ; the statue falls from the pedestal. Columns, 
arches, pyramids, what are they but heaps of sand— and their 
epitaphs, but characters written in the dust ? What is the 
security of a tomb, or the perpetuity of an embalmment ? The 
remains of Alexander the Great have been scattered to the 
wind, and his empty sarcophagus is now the mere curiosity of 
a museum. "The Egyptian mummies, which Cambyses or 
time hath spared, avarice now consumeth ; Mizraim cures 
woands, and Pharoah is sold for balsams."* 

What then is to insure this pile, which now towers above 
me, from sharing the fate of mightier mausoleums ? The time 
must come when its gilded vaults which now spring so loftily, 
shall lie in rubbish beneath the feet ; when, instead of the 
sound of melody and praise, the winds shall whistle through 
the broken arches, and the owl hoot from the shattered tower 
— when the garish sunbeam shall break into these gloomy 
mansions of death ; and the ivy twine round the fallen col- 
umn ; and the fox-glove hang its blossoms about the nameless 
urn, as if in mockery of the dead. Thus man passes away ; 
his name passes from recollection ; his history is a tale that is 
told, and his very monument becomes a ruin. 

* Sir Thomas Brown. 



26 CHEISTMAS EVE. 



CHBISTMAS EVE. 

Saint Francis and Saint Benedight 
Blesse this house from wicked wight; 
From the nightmare and the gobhn, 
That is hight good fellow Robin; 
Keep it from all evil spirits, 
Fairies, weazels, rats, and ferrets : 

From curfew-time 

To the next prime. Cartwright. 

It was a brilliant moonlight night, but extremely cold ; 
our chaise whirled rapidly over the frozen ground ; the post- 
boy smacked his whip incessantly, and a part of the time his 
horses were on a gallop. "He knows where he is going," 
said my companion, laughing, " and is eager to arrive in time 
for some of the merriment and good cheer of the servants 
hall. My father, you must know, is a bigoted devotee of the 
old school, and prides himself upon keeping up something of 
old English hospitality. He is a tolerable specimen of what 
you will rarely meet with nowadays in its purity, — the old 
English country gentleman ; for our men of fortune spend so 
much of their time in town, and fashion is carried so much 
into the country, that the strong rich peculiarities of ancient 
rural life are almost polished away. My father, however, 
from early years, took honest Peacham* for his text-book, in- 
stead of Chesterfield ; he determined in his own mind, that 
there was no condition more truly honorable and enviable 
than that of a country gentleman on his paternal lands, and, 
therefore, passes the whole of his time on his estate. He is 
a strenuous advocate for the revival of the old rural games 
and holiday observances, and is deeply read in the writers, 
ancient and modern, who have treated on the subject. In- 
deed, his favorite range of reading is among the authors who 

*Peacham's Complete Gentleman, 1622. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 27 

flourished at least two centuries since ; who, he insists, wrote 
and thought more like true Englishmen than any of their suc- 
cessors. He even regrets sometimes that he had not been 
born a few centuries earlier, when England was itself, and 
had its peculiar manners and customs. As he lives at some 
distance from the main road, in rather a lonely part of the 
country, without any rival gentry near him, he has that most 
enviable of all blessings to an Englishman, an opportunity of 
indulging the bent of his own humor without molestation. 
Being representative of the oldest family in the neighbor- 
hood, and a great part of the peasantry being his tenants, he 
i*s much looked up to, and, in general, is known simply by the 
appellation of ' The 'Squire ; ' a title which has been ac- 
corded to the head of the family since time immemorial. I 
think it best to give you these hints about my worthy old 
father, to prepare you for any little eccentricities that might 
otherwise appear absurd." 

We had passed for some time along the wall of a park, 
and at length the chaise stopped at the gate. It was in a 
heavy magnificent old style, of iron bars, fancifully wrought 
at top into flourishes and flowers. The huge square columns 
that supported the gate were summounted by the family crest. 
Close adjoining was the porter's lodge, sheltered under dark 
fir trees, and almost buried in shrubbery. 

The post-boy rang a large porter's bell, which resounded 
through the still frosty air, and was answered by the distant 
barking of dogs, with which the mansion-house seemed gar- 
risoned. An old woman immediately appeared at the gate. 
As the moonlight fell strongly upon her, I had a full view of 
a little primitive dame, dressed very much in antique taste, 
with a neat kerchief and stomacher, and her silver hair peep- 
ing from under a cap of snowy whiteness. She came curtsey- 
ing forth with many expressions of simple joy at seeing her 
young master. Her husband, it seemed, was up at the house, 
keeping Christmas eve in the servants' hall ; they could not 
do without him, as he was the best hand at a song and story 
in the household. 



28 CHEISTMAS EVE. 

My friend proposed that we should alight, and walk 
through the park to the Hall, which was at no great distance, 
while the chaise should follow on. Our road wound through 
a noble avenue of trees, among the naked branches of which 
the moon glittered as she rolled through the deep vault of a 
cloudless sky. The lawn beyond was sheeted with a slight 
covering of snow, which here aud there sparkled as the moon- 
beams caught a frosty crystal : and at a distance might be 
seen a thin transparent vapor, stealing up from the low 
grounds, and threatening gradually to shroud the landscape. 

My companion looked round him with transport :— ' ' How 
often," said he, " have I scampered up this avenue, on re- 
turning home on school vacations ! How often have I played 
under these trees when a boy ! I feel a degree of filial rever- 
ence for them, as we look up to those who have cherished us 
in childhood. My father was always scrupulous in exacting 
our holidays, and having us around him on family festivals. 
He used to direct and superintend our games with the strict- 
ness that some parents do the studies of their children. He 
was very particular that we should play the old English games 
according to their original form ; and consulted old books for 
precedent and authority for every ' merrie disport ; ' yet, I 
assure you, there never was pedantry so delightful. It was 
the policy of the good old gentleman to make his children 
feel that home was the happiest place in the world, and I 
value this delicious home-feeling as one of the choicest gifts 
a parent could bestow." 

We were interrupted by the clamor of a troop of dogs of 
all sorts and sizes, "mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound, and 
curs of low degree," that, disturbed by the ringing of the por- 
ter's bell and the rattling of the chaise, came bounding open- 
mouthed across the lawn. 

" The little dogs and all, 

Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me 1 *' 

cried Bracebridge, laughing. At the sound of his voice, the 
bark was changed into a yelp of delight, and in a moment he 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 29 

was surroimded and almost overpowered by the caresses of 
the faithful animals. 

"We had now come in full view of the old family mansion, 
partly thrown in deep shadow, and partly lit up by the cold 
moonshine. It was an irregular building of some magnitude, 
and seemed to be of the architecture of different periods. 
One wing was evidently very ancient, with heavy stone- 
shafted bow windows jutting out and overrun with ivy, from 
among the foliage of which the small diamond-shaped panes 
of glass glittered with the moon-beams. The rest of the 
house was in the French taste of Charles the Second's time, 
having been repaired and altered, as my friend told me, by 
one of his ancestors, who returned with that monarch at the 
Eestoration. The grounds about the house were laid out in 
the old formal manner of artificial flower beds, clipped shrub- 
beries, raised terraces, and heavy stone ballustrades, orna- 
mented with urns, a leaden-statue or two, and a jet of water. 
The old gentleman, I was told, was extremly careful to pre- 
serve this obsolete finery in all its original state. He admired 
this fashion in gardening ; it had an air of magnificence, Avas 
courtly and noble, and befitting good old family style. The 
boasted imitation of nature and modern gardening had sprung 
up with modern republican notions, but did not suit a mon- 
archical government — it smacked of the levelling system. I 
could not help smiling at this introduction of politics into 
gardening, though I expressed some apprehension that I 
should find the old gentleman rather intolerant in his creed. 
Frank assured me, however, that it was almost the only in- 
stance in wiiich he had ever heard his father meddle with 
politics ; and he believed he had got this notion from a mem- 
ber of ParliameiTt, who once passed a few weeks with him. 
The 'Squire w^as glad of any argument to defend his clipped 
yew trees and formal terraces, which had been occasionally 
attacked by modern landscape gardeners. 

As we approached the house, we heard the sound of music, 
and now and then a burst of laughter, f i-oni one end of the 
building. This, Bracebridge said, must proceed from the 



30 CHRISTMAS EVE. 

servants' hall, where a great deal of revelry was permitted, 
and even encouraged, by the 'Squire, throughout the twelve 
days of Christmas, provided every thing was done conforma- 
bly to ancient usage. Here were kept up the old games of 
hoodman blind, shoe the wild marfe, hot cockles, steal the 
white loaf, bob apple, and snap-dragon ; the yule clog, and 
Christmas candle, were regularly burnt, and the mistletoe, 
with its white berries, hung up, to the imminent peril of all 
the pretty house-maids.* 

So intent were the servants upon their sports, that we had 
to ring repeatedly before we could make ourselves heaid. On 
our arrival being announced, the 'Squire came out to receive 
us, accompanied by his two other sons ; one a young officer 
in the army, home on leave of absence ; the other an Oxon- 
ian, just from the university. The 'Squire was a fine healthy- 
looking old gentleman, with silver hair curling lightly round 
an open florid countenance ; in which a physiognomist, with 
the advantage, like myself, of a previous hint or two, might 
discover a singular mixture of whim and benevolence. 

The family meeting was warm and affectionate ; as the 
evening was far advanced, the 'Squire would not permit us to 
change our traveling dresses, but ushered us at once to the 
company, which was assembled is a large old-fashioned hall. 
It was composed of different branches of a numerous family 
connection, where there were the usual proportions of old 
uncles and aunts, comfortable married dames, superannuated 
spinsters, blooming country cousins, half-fledged striplings, 
and bright-eyed boarding-school hoydens. They were vari- 
ously occupied ; some at a round game of cards ; others con- 
versing round the fire-place ; at one end of the hall was a 
group of the young folks, some nearly growfi up, others of a 
more tender and budding age, fully engrossed by a merry 
game ; and a profusion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, 
and tattered dolls about the floor, showed traces of a troop of 

*The mistletoe is stUl hung up in farm-houses and kitchens, at Christ- 
mas ; and the young men have the privilege of kissing the girls under it, 
plucking each time a berry from the bush, When the herrjes are all plucked, 
the privilege ceases, 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 31 

little fairy beings, who, having frolicked through a happy day, 
had been carried off to slumber through a peaceful night. 

While the mutual greetings were going on between young 
Bracebridge and his relatives, I had time to scan the apart- 
ment. I have called it a hall, for so it had certainly been in 
old times, and the 'Squire had evidently endeavored to restore 
it to something of its primitive state. Over the heavy project- 
ing fire-place was suspended a picture of a warrior in armor, 
standing by a white horse, and on the opposite wall hung a 
helmet, buckler and lance. At one end an enormous pair of 
antlers were inserted in the wall, the branches serving as 
hooks on which to suspend hats, whips, and spurs ; and in the 
corners of the apartment were fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, 
and other sporting implements. The furniture was of the 
cumbrous workmanship of former days, though some articles 
of modern convenience had been added and the oaken floor 
had been carpeted ; so that the whole presented an odd mix- 
ture of parlor and hall. 

The grate had been removed from the wide overwhelming 
fire-place, to make way for a fire of wood, in the midst of 
w^hich was an enormous log, glowing and blazing, and send- 
ing forth a vast volume of light and heat ; this I understood 
was the yule clog, which the 'Squire was particular in having 
brought in and illumined on a Christmas eve, according to 
ancient custom.* 

*The yule clog is a great log of wood, sometimes the root of a tree, 
brought into the house with great ceremony, on Christmas eve, laid in the 
fire-place, and lighted with the brand of last year's clog. While it lasted, 
there was great drinking, singing, and telling of tales. Sometimes it was 
accompanied hy Christmas candles ; but in the cottages, the only light 
was from the ruddy blaze of the great wood fire. The yule clog was to burn 
all night : if it went out, it was considered a sign of ill luck. 
Herrick mentions it in one of his songs : 

Come bring with a noise. 
My raerrie, merrie boys, 
The Christmas Log to the firing ; 
W^hile my good dame she 
Bids ye all be free. 
And drink to your hearts desiring. 
The yule clog is still burnt in many farm-bouses and kitchens in Eng- 



32 CHRISTMAS EVE. 

It was really delightful to see the old 'Squire, seated in 
his hereditary elbow-chair, by the hospitable fireside of his 
ancestors, and looking around him like the sun of a system, 
beaming warmth, and gladness to every heart. Even the very 
dog that lay stretched at his feet, as he lazily shifted his posi- 
tion and yawned, would look fondly up in his master's face, 
wag his tail against the floor, and stretch himself again to 
sleep, confident of kindness and protection. There is an 
emanation from the heart in genuine hospitality, which can- 
not be described, but is immediately felt, and puts the stranger 
at once at his ease. I had not been seated many minutes by 
the comfortable hearth of the worthy old cavalier, before I 
found myself as much at home as if I had been one of the 
family. 

Supper was announced shortly after our arrival It was 
served up in a spacious oaken chamber, the panels of which 
shone with wax, and around which were several family por- 
traits decorated with holly and ivy. Besides the accustomed 
lights, two great wax tapers, called Christmas candles, 
wreathed with greens, were placed on a highly polished beaufet 
among the family plate. The table was abundantly spread 
with substantial fare ; but the 'Squire made his supper of 
frumenty, a dish made of wheat cakes boiled in milk with 
rich spices, being a standing dish in old times for Christmas 
eve. I was happy to find my old friend, minced pie, in the 
retinue of the feast ; and findmg him to be perfectly orthodox, 
and that I need not be ashamed of my predilection, I greeted 
him with all the warmth wherewith we usually greet an old 
and very genteel acquaintance. 

The mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the 
humors of an eccentric personage whom Mr. Bracebridge 
always addressed with the quaint appellation of Master 

land, particularly in the north, and there are several superstitions con- 
nected with it among the peasantry. If a squinting person come to the 
house while it is burning, or a person barefooted, it is considered an ill 
omen. The brand remaining from the yule clog is carefully put away to 
light the next year's Christmas fire. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 33 

Simon. He was a tight brisk little man, with the air of an 
arrant old bachelor. His nose was shaped like the bill of a 
parrot ; his face slightly pitted with tlie small-pox, with a 
dry perpetual bloom on it, like a frost-bitten leaf in autumn. 
He had an eye of great quickness and vivacity, with a droll- 
ery and lurking waggery of expression that was irresistible. 
He was evidently the wit of the family, dealing very much 
in sly jokes and innuendoes with the ladies, and making in- 
finite merriment by harpings upon old themes ; which, un- 
fortunately, my ignorance of the family chronicles did not 
permit me to enjoy. It seemed to be his great delight, during 
supper, to keep a young girl next him in a continual agony of 
stifled laughter, in spite of her awe of the reproving looks of 
her mother, who sat opposite. Indeed, he was the idol of the 
younger part of the company, who laughed at everything he 
said or did, and at every turn of his countenance. I could 
not wonder at it ; for he must have been a miracle of accom- 
plishments in their eyes. He could imitate Punch and Judy ; 
make an old woman of his hand, with the assistance of a 
burnt cork and pocket-handkerchief ; and cut an orange into 
such a ludicrous caricature, that the young folk were ready to 
die with laughing. 

I was let briefly into his history by Frank Bracebridge. 
He was an old bachelor, of a small independent income, 
which, by careful management, was sufficient for all his 
wants. He revolved through the family system like a vagrant 
comet in its orbit, sometimes visiting one branch, and some- 
times another quite remote, as is often the case with gentle- 
men of extensive connections and small fortunes in England. 
He had a chirping, buoyant disposition, always enjoying the 
present moment ; and his frequent change of scene and com- 
pany prevented his acquiring those rusty, unaccommodating 
habits, with which old bachelors are so uncharitably charged. 
He was a complete family chronicle, being versed in the 
genealogy, history, and intermarriages of the whole house of 
Bracebridge, which made him a great favorite with, the old 
folks ; he was a beau of all the elder ladies and superannuated 



34 CHRISTMAS EVE. 

spinsters, among whom lie was habitually considered rather a 
young fellow, and he was master of the revels among the 
children ; so that there was not a more popular being in the 
sphere in which he moved, than Mr. Simon Bracebridge. Of 
late years, he had resided almost entirely with the 'Squire, 
to whom he had become a factotum, and whom he particu- 
larly delighted by jumping with his humor in respect to old 
times, and by having a scrap of an old song to suit every 
occasion. We had presently a specimen of his last-mentioned 
talent ; for no sooner was supper removed, and spiced wines 
and other beverages peculiar to the season introduced, than 
Master Simon was called on for a good old Christmas song. 
He bethought himself for a moment, and then, with a sparkle 
of the eye, and a voice that was by no means bad, excepting 
that it ran occasionally into a falsetto, like the notes of a 
split reed, he quavered forth a quaint old ditty : 

Now Christmas is come, 

Let us beat up the drum, 
And call all our neighbors together; 

And when they appear, 

Let us make such a cheer, 
As will keep out the wind and the weather, etc. 

The supper had disposed every one to gayety, Lnd an old 
harper was summoned from the servants' hall, where he had 
been strumming all the evening, and to all appearance com- 
forting himself with some of the 'Squire's home-brewed. He 
was a kind of hanger-on, I was told, of the establishment, and 
though ostensibly a resident of the village, was oftener to be 
found in the 'Squire's kitchen than his own home ; the old 
gentleman being fond of the sound of " Harp in hall." 

The dance, like most dances after supper, was a merry 
one : some of the older folks joined in it, and the 'Squire 
himself figured down several couple with a partner with whom 
he affirmed he had danced at every Christmas for nearly half 
a century. Master Simon, who seemed to be a kind of con- 
necting link between the old times and the new, and to be 
withal a little antiquated in the taste of his accomplishments, 
evidently piqued himself on his dancing, and was endeavor- 



CimiSTMAS EVE. 35 

ing to gain credit by the heel and toe, rigadoon, and other 
graces of the ancient school ; but he had unluckily assorted 
himself with a little romping girl from boarding school, who, 
by her wild vivacity, kept him continually on the stretch, and 
defeated all his sober attempts at elegance :— such are the 
ill-sorted matches to which antique gentlemen are unfortu- 
nately prone ? 

The young Oxonian, on the contrary, had led out one of 
his maiden aunts, on whom the rogue played a thousand little 
knaveries with impunity ; he was full of practical jokes, and 
his delight was to tease his aunts and cousins.; yet, like all 
madcap youngsters, he was a universal favorite among the 
women. The most interesting couple in the dance was the 
young officer, and a ward of the 'Squire's, a beautiful blushing 
girl of seventeen. From several shy glances which I had 
noticed in the course of the evening, I suspected there was a 
little kindness growing up between' them ; and, indeed, the 
young soldier was just the hero to captivate a romantic girl. 
He was tall, slender, and handsome ; and, like most young 
British officers of late years, had picked up various small 
accomplishments on the continent — he could talk French and 
Italian, draw landscapes, sing very tolerably, dance divinely ; 
but, above all, he had been wounded at Waterloo ; — what girl 
of seventeen, well read in poetry and romance, could resist 
such a mirror of chivalry and perfection? 

The moment the dance was over, he caught up a guitar, 
and lolling against the old marble fire-place, in an attitude 
which I am half inclined to suspect was studied, began the 
little French air of the Troubadour. The 'Squire, however, 
exclaimed against having anything on Christmas eve but 
good old English ; upon which the young minstrel, casting 
up his eye for a moment, as if in an effort of memory, struck 
into another strain, and with a charming air of gallantry, 
gave Herrick's " Night Piece to Julia : " 

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
The shooting stars attend thee; 

And the elves also. 

Whose little eyes glow 
Like the sparks of fire, befriend tbe§. 



36 CHRISTMAS EVE. 

No Will-o'-the'-Wisp mislight thee ; 
Nor snake or slow- worm bite thee ; 

But on, on thy way, 

Not making a stay, 
Since ghost there is none to afifright thee 

Then let not the dark thee cumber ; 
What though the moon does slumber, 

The stars of the night 

Will lend thee their light, 
Like tapers clear without number. 

Then, Julia, let me woo thee. 
Thus, thus to come unto me ; 

And when I shall meet 

Thy silvery feet. 
My soul I'll pour into thee. 

The song might or might not have been intended in com- 
pliment to the fair Julia, for so I found his partner was 
called ; she, however, was certainly unconscious of any such 
application ; for she never looked at the singer, but kept her 
eyes cast upon the floor ; her face was suffused, it is true, with 
a beautiful blush, and there was a gentle heaving of the 
bosom, but all that was doubtless caused by the exercise of 
the dance : indeed, so great was her indifference, that she was 
amusing herself with plucking to pieces a choice bouquet of 
hot-house flowers, and by the time the song was concluded 
the nosegay lay in ruins on the floor. 

The party now broke up the night with the kind-hearted 
old custom of shaking hands. As I passed through the hall 
on my way to my chamber, the dying embers of the yule clog 
still sent forth a dusky glow ; and had it not been the season 
when " no spirit dares stir abroad," I should have been half 
tempted to steal from ni}^ room at midnight, and peep whether 
the fairies might not be at their revels about the hearth. 

My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, the pon- 
derous furniture of which might have been fabricated in the 
days of the giants. The room was panelled, with cornices of 
heavy carved work, in which flowers and grotesque faces 
were strangely intermingled, and a row of black-looking por- 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 37 

traits stared mournfully at me from the walls. The bed was 
of rich, though faded damask, with a loft}^ tester, and stood 
in a niche opposite a bow-window. I had scarcely got into 
bed when a strain of music seemed to break forth in the air 
just below the window : I listened, and found it proceeded 
from a band, which I concluded to be the waits from some 
neighboring village. They went round the house, playing 
under the windows. I drew aside the curtains, to hear them 
more distinctly. The moonbeams fell through the upper part 
of the casement, partially lighting up the antiquated apart- 
ment. The sounds, as they receded, became soft and aerial, 
and seemed to accord with quiet and moonlight. 1 listened 
and listened — they became more and more tender and remote 
and, as they gradually died away, my head sunk upon the 
pillow, and I fell asleep. 



38 CHEISTMAS DAT. 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 

Dark and dull night flie hence away, 
And give the honor to this day 
That sees December turn'd to May. 
******* 

Why does the chilling winter's morne 
Smile like a field beset with corn ? 
Or smell like to a meade new-shorne, 
Thus on a sudden?— come and see 
The cause, why things thus fragrant be. 

Herrick. 

When I woke the next morning, it seemed as if all the 
events of the preceding evening had been a dream, and noth- 
ing but the identity of the ancient chamber convinced me of 
their reality. While I lay musing on my pillow, I heard the 
sound of little feet pattering outside of the door, and a whis- 
pering consultation. Presently a choir of small voices chanted 
forth an old Christmas carol, the burden of which was— 

Rejoice, our Saviour he was born 
On Christmas day in the morning. 

I rose softly, slipt on my clothes, opened the door suddenly, 
and beheld one of the most beautiful little fairy groups that a 
painter could imagine. It consisted of a boy and two girls, 
the eldest not more than six, and lovely as seraphs. They 
were going the rounds of the house, singing at every chamber 
door, but my sudden appearance frightened them into mute 
bashfulness. They remained for a moment playing on their 
lips with their fingers, and now and then stealing a shy glance 
from under their eyebrows, until, as if by one impulse, they 
scampered away, and as they turned an angle of the gallery, I 
heard them laughing in triumph at their escape. 

Everything conspired to produce kind and happy feelings, 
ni this stronghold of old-fashiohed hospitality. The window 
of my chamber looked out upon what in summer would have 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 39 

been a beautiful landscape. There was a sloping lawn, a fine 
stream winding at the foot of it, and a tract of park beyond, 
with noble clumps of trees, and herds of deer. At a distance 
w^as a neat hamlet, with the smoke from the cottage chimneys 
hanging over it ; and a church, with its dark spire in strong 
relief against the clear cold sky. The house was surrounded 
with evergreens according to the English custom, which would 
have given almost an appearance of summer ; but the morning 
was extremely frosty ; the light vapor of the preceding even- 
ing had been precipitated by the cold, and covered all the trees 
and every blade of grass wath its fine crystallizations. The 
rays of a bright morning sun had a dazzling effect among the 
glittering foliage. A robin perched upon the top of a moun- 
tain ash, that hung its clusters of red berries just before my 
window, was basking himself in the sunshine, and piping a 
few querulous notes ; and a peacock was displaying all the 
glories of his train, and strutting with the pride and gravity of 
a Spanish grandee on the terrace-walk below. 

I had scarcely dressed myself, w^hen a servant appeared to 
invite me to family prayers. He showed me the way to a 
small chapel in the old wing of the house, where I found the 
principal part of the family already assembled in a kind of 
gallery, furnished with cushions, hassocks, aud large prayer- 
books ; the servants w^ere seated on benches below. The old 
gentleman read prayers from a desk in front of the gallery, 
and Master Simon acted as clerk and made the responses ; 
and I must do him the justice to say, that he acquitted himself 
with great gravity and decorum. 

The service was followed by a Christmas carol, w^hich Mr. 
Bracebridge himself had constructed from a poem of his 
favorite author, Herrick ; and it had been adapted to a church 
melody by Master Simon. As there were several good voices 
among the household, the effect was extremely pleasing ; but 
I was particularly gratified by the exaltation of heart, and sud- 
den sally of grateful feeling, with which the worthy 'Squire 
delivered one stanza ; his eye glistening, and his voice ram- 
bling out of all the bounds of time and tune : 



40 CHRISTMAS DAY. 

" 'Tis thou that crown'st my gUtteriog hearth 
With guiltless mirth, 
And giv'st me Wassaile bowles to drink 
Spic'd to the brink : 

Lord, 'tis thy plenty -dropping hand 

That soiles my land 
And giv'st me for my bushell sowne, 

Twice ten for one." 

I afterward understood that early morning service was read 
on every Sunday and saint's day throughout the year, either by 
Mr. Bracebridge or some member of the family. It was once 
almost universally the case at the seats of the nobility and 
gentry of England, and it is much to be regretted that the 
custom is falling into neglect ; for the dullest observer must 
be sensible of the order and serenity prevalent in those house- 
holds, where the occasional exercise of a beautiful form of 
worship in the morning gives, as it were, the key-note to every 
temper for the day, and attunes every spirit to harmony. 

Our breakfast consisted of wdiat the 'Squire denominated 
true old English fare. He indulged in some bitter lamenta- 
tions over modern breakfas'^s of tea and toast, which he cen- 
sured as among the causes of modern effeminacy and weak 
nerves, and the decline of old English heartiness : and though 
he admitted them to his table to suit the palates of his guests, 
yet there was a brave display of cold, meats, wine, and ale, on 
the sideboard. 

After breakfast, I walked about the grounds with Frank 
Bracebridge and Master Simon, or Mr. Simon, as he was 
called by everybody but the 'Squire. We were escorted by 
a number of gentlemen-like dogs, that seemed loungers about 
the establishment ; from the frisking spaniel to the steady old 
stag- hound — the last of which was of a race that had been in 
the family time out of mind — they were all obedient to a dog- 
whistle which hung to Master Simon's button-hole, and in the 
midst of their gambols would glance an eye occasionally upon 
a small switch he carried in his hand. 

The old mansion had a still more venerable look in the 
yellow sunshine than by pale moonlight ; and I could not but 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 41 

feel the force of the 'Squire's idea, that the formal terraces, 
heavily moulded balustrades, and clipped yew trees, carried 
with them an air of proud aristocracy. 

There appeared to be an unusual number of peacocks about 
the place, and I was making some remarks upon what I termed 
a flock of them that were basking under a sunny wall when 
I was gently corrected in my phraseology by Master Simon, 
who told me that according to the most ancient and approved 
treatise on hunting, I must say a muster of peacocks. "In 
the same way," added he, with a slight air of pedantry, "we 
saw a flight of doves or swallows, a bevy of quails, a herd of 
deer, of wrens, or cranes, a skulk of foxes, or a building of 
rooks." He went on to inform me that, according to Sir 
Anthony Fitzherbert, we ought to ascribe to this bird "both 
understanding and glory ; for, being praised, he will presently 
set up his tail, chiefly against the sun, to the intent you may 
the better behold the beauty thereof. But at the fall of the 
leaf, when his tail falleth, he will mourn and hide himslf in 
corners, till his tail come again as it was. 

I could not help smiling at this display of small erudition 
on so whimsical a subject ; but I found that the peacocks were 
birds of some consequence at the Hall ; for Frank Bracebridge 
informed me that they were great favorites with his father, who 
was extremely careful to keep up the breed, partly because 
they belonged to chivalry, and were in great request at the 
stately banquets of the olden time ; and partly because they 
had a pomp and magnificence about thtm highly becoming an 
old family mansion. Nothing, he was accustomed to say, had 
an air of greater state and dignity, than a peacock perched 
upon on antique stone balustrade. 

Master Simon had now to hurry off, having an appoint- 
ment at the parish church with the village choiisters, who were 
to perform, some music of his selection. There was something 
extremely agreeable in the cheerful flow of animal spirits of 
the little man ; and I confess that I had been somewhat sur- 
prised at his apt quotations from authors who certainly were 
not in the range of every-day reading. I mentioned this last 



42 CHKTSTMAS DAY. 

circumstance to Frank Bracebridge, who told me with a smile 
that Master Simon's whole stock of erudition was confined to 
some half-a-dozen old authors, which the 'Squire had put into 
his hands, and which he read^ over and over, whenever he had 
a studious fit ; as he sometimes had on a rainy day, or a long 
winter evening. Sir Anthony Fitzherbert's Book of Hus- 
bandry ; Markham's Country Contentment ; the Tretyse of 
Hunting, by Sir Tliomas Cockayne, Knight ; Isaac Walton's 
Angler, and two or three more such ancient worthies of the 
pen, were his standard authorities ; and, like all men who 
know but few books, he looked up to them with a kind of 
idolatry, and quoted them on all occasions. As to his songs, 
they were chiefly picked out of old books in the 'Squire's 
library, and adapted to tunes that were popular among the 
choice spirits of the last century. His practical application of 
scraps of literature, however, had caused him to be looked up- 
on as a prodigy of book-knowledge by all the grooms, hunts- 
men, and small sportsmen of the neighborhood. 

While we were talking, we heard the distant toll of the 
village bell, and I was told that the 'Squire was a little partic- 
ular in having his household at church on a Christmas morn- 
ing ; considering it a day of pouring out of thanks and rejoic- 
ing ; for, as old Tusser observed, — 

"At Christmas be merry, and thankful withal 
And feast Ihy good neighbors, tliegi'eat with the small." 

"If you are disposed to go to church," said Frank Brace- 
bridge, " I can promise you a specimen of my cousin Simon's 
musical achievements. As the church is destitute of an organ, 
he has formed a band from the village amateurs, and estab- 
lished a musical club for their improvement ; he has also sort- 
ed a choir, as he has sorted my father's pack of hounds accord- 
ing to the directions of Jervaise Markham, in his Country Con- 
tentments ; for the bass he has sought out all the 'deep, sol- 
emn mouths,' and for the tenor the 'loud ringing mouth,' 
among the country bumpkins ; and for ' sweet mouths,' he 
has culled with curious taste among the prettiest lasses in the 
neighborhood ; though these last, he affirms, are the most dif- 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 43 

ficnlt to keep in tune ; your pretty female singer being exceed- 
ingly w;iyvv;ird and capricious, and very liable to accident." 

As the mornitig, though frosty, was remarkably fine and 
clear, the most of tlie family wallved to the church, which was 
a A^ery old building of gray stone, and stood near a village, 
about half a mile from the park gate. Adjoining it was a 
low snug parsonage, which seemed coeval with the church. 
The front of it was perfectly matted with a yew tree, that had 
been trained against its walls, through the dense foliage of 
which, apertures had been formed to admit light into the small 
antique lattices. As we passed this sheltered nest, the parson 
issued forth and preceded us. 

I had expected to see a sleek well-conditioned pastor, such 
as is often found in a snug living in the vicinity of a rich 
patron's table, but I was disappointed. The parson was a 
little meagre, black-looking man, with a grizzled wig that was 
too wide, and stood off from each ear ; so that his head seem- 
ed to have shrunk away within it, like a dried filbert in its 
shell. He wore a rusty coat, with great skirts, and pockets 
that would have held the church bible and prayer-book : and 
his small legs seemed still smaller, from being planted in 
large shoes, decorated with enormous buckles. 

I was informed by Frank Bracebridge that the parson had 
been a chnm of his father's at Oxford, and had received this 
living shortly after the latter had come to his estate. He was 
a complete black-letter hunter, and would scarcely read a work 
printed in the Roman character. The editions of Caxton and 
AVynkin de Worde w^ere his delight ; and he was indefatigable 
in his researches after such old English writers as have 
fallen into oblivion from their worthlessness. In deference, 
perhaps, to the notions of Mr. Bracebridge, he had made diligent 
investigations mto the festive rites and holiday customs of 
former times ; and had been as zealous m the inquiry, as if he 
had been a boon companion ; but it was merely with that 
plodding s}3irit with which men of adust temperament follow 
up any track of study, merely because it is denominated learn- 
ing ; indifferent to its intrinsic nature, whether it be the ill us- 



44 CHRISTMAS DAY. 

tration of the wisdom, or of the ribaldry and obscenity of an- 
tiquity. He had pored over these old volumes so intensely, 
that they seemed to have been reflected into his countenance ; 
which, if the face be indeed an index of the mind, might be 
compared to a title-page of black-letter. 

On reaching the church-porch, we found the parson rebuk- 
ing the gray-headed sexton for having used mistletoe among 
the greens with which the church was decorated. It was, 
he observed, an unholy plant, profane by having been used 
by the Druids in their mystic ceremonies ; and though it might 
innocently employed in the festive ornamenting of halls and 
kitchens, yet it had been deemed by the Fathers of the Church 
as unhallowed, and totally unfit for sacred purposes. So ten- 
acious was he on this point, that the poor sexton was obliged 
to strip down a great part of the humble trophies of his taste, 
before the parson would consent to enter upon the service of 
the day. 

The interior of the church was venerable, but simple ; on 
the walls were several mural monuments of the Bracebridges, 
and just beside the altar, was a tomb of ancient workmanship, 
on which lay the effigy of a warrior in armor, with his legs 
crossed, a sign of his having been a crusader. I was told it 
was one of the family who had signalized himself in the Holy 
Land, and the same whose picture hung over the fire-place in 
the hall. 

During service. Master Simon stood up in the pew, and 
repeated the responses very audibly ; evincing that kind of 
ceremonious devotion punctually observed by a gentleman of 
the old school, and a man of old family connections. I ob- 
served, too, that he turned over the leaves of a folio prayer- 
book with somethiug of a flourish, possibly to show off an enor- 
mous seal-ring which enriched one of his fingers, and which 
had the look of a family relic. But he was evidently most 
solicitous about the musical part of the service, keeping his eye 
fixed intently on the choir, and beating time with much gestic- 
ulation and emphasis. 

The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most 



CHEISTMAS DAY. 45 

whimsical gr(5iiping of heads, piled one above the other, among 
which I particularly noticed that of the village tailor, a pale 
fellow with a retreating forehead and chin, who played on the 
clarionet, and seemed to have blown his face to a point ; and 
there was another, a short pursy man, stooping and laboring 
at a bass viol, so as to show nothing but the top of a round 
bald head like the egg of an ostrich. There were two or three 
pretty faces among the female singers, to which the keen air 
of a frosty morning had given a bright rosy tint : but the gen- 
tlemen choristers had evidently been chosen, like old Cremona 
fiddles, more for tone than looks ; and as several had to sing 
from the same book, there were clusterings of odd physiogno- 
mies, not unlike those groups of cherubs we sometimes see on 
country tombstones. 

The usual services of the choir were managed tolerably 
well, the vocal parts generally lagging a little behind the in- 
strumental, and some loitering fiddler now and then making up 
for lost time by travelling over a passage with prodigious celer- 
ity, and clearing more bars than the keenest fox-hunter, to be 
in at the death. But the great trial was an anthem that had 
been prepared and arranged by Master Simon, and on which he 
had founded great expectation. Unluckily there was a blun- 
der at the very outset — the musicians became flurried ; Master 
Simon was in a fever ; everything went on lamely and irregu- 
larly, until they came to a chorus beginning, "Now let us 
sing with one accord," which seemed to be a signal for parting 
company : all became discord and confusion ; each shifted for 
himself, and got to the end as well, or, rather, as soon as he 
could ; excepting one old chorister, in a pair of horn spectacles, 
bestriding and pinching a long sonorous nose; who, happening 
to stand a little apart, and being wrapped up in his own mel- 
ody, kept on a quavering course, wriggling his head, ogling his 
book, and winding all up by a nasal solo of at least three bars' 
duration. 

The parson gave us a most erudite sermon on the rites and 
ceremonies of Christmas, and the propriety of observing it, 
not merely as a day of thanksgiving, but of rejoicing; support- 



46 CHBISTMAS DAY. 

ing the correctness of his opinions by the earliest usages of the 
church, and enforcing them by the authorities of Theoi3liilus 
of Cesarea, St. Cyprian, St. Chrysostom, St. Augustine, and a 
cloud more of Saints and Fathers, from whom he made copi- 
ous quotations. I was a little at a loss to perceive the neces- 
sity of such a mighty array of forces to maintain a point which 
no one present seemed inclined to dispute ; but I soon found 
that the good man had a legion of ideal adversaries to contend 
with; having, in the course of his researches on the subject of 
Christmas, got completely embroiled in the sectarian controver- 
sies of the Revolution, when the Puritans made such a tierce 
assault upon the ceremonies of the church, and poor old Christ- 
mas was driven out of the land by proclamation of Parliament.* 
The worthy pa,rson lived but with times past, and knew but 
little of the present. 

Shut up among worm-eaten tomes in the retirement of his 
antiquated little study, the pages of old times were to him as 
the gazettes of the day ; w^hile the era of the Revolution w^as 
mere modern history. He forgot that nearly two centuries 
had elapsed since the fiery persecution of poor mince-pie 
throughout the land ; when plum porridge was denounced as 
"mere popery," and roast beef as anti-christian; and that 
Christmas had been brought in again triumphantly with the 
merry court of King Charles at the Restoration. He kindled 
into warmth with the ardor of his contest, and the host of im- 
aginary foes with whom he had to combat; he had a stubborn 
conflict with old Prynne and two or three other forgotten 

* From the " Flyinp^ Eagle/' a small Gazette, published December 24th, 
1G5-'— "The House spent much time this day about tlie business of the 
Navy, for settling tlie affairs at sea, and before tliey I'ose, were presented 
with a terrible remonstrance against Christmas day, grounded upon divine 
Scriptui-es, 2 Cor. v. 16; 1 Cor. xv. 14. 17; and in honour of the Lord's 
Day, grounded upon these Scriptures, John xx. 1; Rev. 1. 10; Psalms, cxviii. 
24; Lev. xxiii. 7, 11; Jiark xv. 8; Psalms, Ixxxiv. 10; in which Christmas is 
called Anti-christ's masse, and those Masse-mongers and Papists who ob- 
serve It, &c. In consequence of which Parliament spent some time in con- 
sultation about the abolition of Christmas day, passed orders to that effect 
and lesolved to sit on the following day which was commonly called Christ- 
mas day." 



CimiSTJifAS DAY. 47 

champions of the Round Heads, on the subject of Christmas 
festivity ; and concluded by urging his hearers, in the most 
solemn and affecting manner, to stand to t'he traditional cus- 
toms of tlieir fathers, and feast and malie merry on tliis joyful 
anniversary of the church. 

I have seldom known a sermon attended apparently with 
more immediate effects; for on leaving the church, the congre- 
gation seemed one and all possessed with the gayety of spirit 
so earnestly enjoined by their pastor. The elder folks gath- 
ered in knots in tlie churchyard, greeting and shaking hands; 
and the children ran about crying, " Ule I Ule ! " and re- 
peating some uncouth rhymes,* which the parson, who had 
joined us, informed me, had been handed down from days of 
yore. The villagers doffed their hats to the 'Squire as he 
passed, giving him the good wishes of the season with every 
appearance of heartfelt sincerity, and were invited by him to 
the hall, to take something to keep out the cold of the weather; 
and I heard blessings uttered by several of the poor, which 
convinced me that, in the midst of his enjoyments, the worthy 
old cavalier had not forgotten the true Christmas virtue of 
charity. 

On our way homeward, his heart seemed overflowing 
with generous and happy feelings. As we passed over a ris- 
ing ground which commanded something of a prospect, the 
sounds of rustic merriment now^ and then reached our ears ; 
the 'Squire paused for a few moments, and looked around 
with an air of inexpressible benignity. The beauty of the 
day was, of itself, sufficient to inspire philanthropy. Notwith- 
standing the frostinessof the morning, the sun m his cloudless 
journey had acquired sufficient power to melt away the thin 
covering of snow from every southern declivity, and to bring 
out the living green which adorns an English landscape even 
in mid-winter. Large tracts of smiling verdure contrasted 
with the dazzling whiteness of the shaded slopes and hollows. 

* " Ule ! Ule ! 
Three puddings in a pule; 
Crack nuts and cry ule ! " 



4B CHRISTMAS DAY. 

Every sheltered bank on which the broad rays rested, yielded 
its silver rill of cold and limpid water, glittering tlirough the 
dripping grass ; and sent up slight exhalations to contribute 
to the thin haze that hung Just above the surface of the earth. 
There was something truly cheering in this triumph of warmth 
and verdure over the frosty thraldom of winter; it was, as 
the 'Squire observed, an emblem of Christmas hospitahty, 
breaking through the chills of ceremony and selfishness, and 
thawing every heart into a flow. He pointed with pleasure to 
the indications of good cheer reeking from the chimneys of 
the comfortable farm-houses and low thatched cottages. 
"I love," said he, "to see this day well kept by rich and 
poor ; it is a great thing to have one day in the year, at least, 
when you are sure of being welcome wherever you go, and of 
having, as it were, the world all thrown open to you ; and I 
am almost disposed to join with poor Robin, in his maledic- 
tion on every churlish enemy to this honest festival : 

" ' Those who at Christmas do repine. 
And would fain hence dispatch him, 
May they with old Duke Humpliry dine, 
Or else may 'Squire Ketch catch him.' " 

The 'Squire went on to lament the deplorable decay of the 
games and amusements which were once prevalent at this 
season among the lower orders, and countenanced by the 
higher ; when the old halls of castles and manor-houses were 
thrown open at daylight ; when the tables were covered with 
brawn, and beef, and humming ale; when the harp and the 
carol resounded all day long, and when rich and poor were 
alike welcome to enter and make merry.* ' ' Our old games and 
local customs," said he, "had a great effect in making the 

*"An English gentleman at the opening of the great day, i.e. on 
Christmas day in the morning, had all his tenants and neighbors enter his 
hall by daybreak. The strong beer was broached, and the black-jacks 
went plentifully about with toast, sugar, and nutmeg and good Cheshire 
cheese. The Hackin (the great sausage) must be boiled by daybreak, or 
else two young men must take the maiden (i.e. the cook) by the arms and 
run her round the market-place till she is shamed of her laziness. "—Koimd 
about our Sea-Coal Fire. 



CHRISTMAS BAY. 49 

peasant fond of his home, and the promotion of them by the 
gentry made him fond of his lord. They made the times 
merrier, and kinder, and better, and I can truly say with one 
of our old poets, 

" ' I like them well— the curious preciseness 
And all-pretended gravity of those 
That seek to banish hence these harmless sports, 
Have thrust away much ancient honesty,' 

"The nation," continued he, "is altered; we have almost 
lost our simple true-hearted peasantry. They have broken 
asunder from the higher classes, and seem to think their inter- 
ests are separate. They have become too knowing, and begin 
to read newspapers, listen to alehouse politicians, and talk of 
reform. 1 think one mode to keep them in good humor in 
these hard times would be for the nobility and gentry to pass 
more time on their estates, mingle more among the country 
people, and set the merry old English games going again." 

Such was the good 'Squire's project for mitigating public 
discontent : and, indeed, he had once attempted to put his 
doctrine in practice, and a few years before had kept open 
house during the holidays in the old style. The country 
people, however, did not understand how to play their parts 
in the scene of hospitality ; many uncouth circumstances 
occurred; the manor was overrun by all the vagrants of the 
country, and more beggars drawn into the neighborhood in 
one week than the parish ojffiicers could get rid of in a year. 
Since then, he had contented himself with inviting the decent 
part of the neighboring peasantry to call at the Hall on Christ- 
mas day, and with distributing beef, and bread, and ale, 
among the poor, that they might make merry in their own 
dwellings. 

We had not been long home, when the sound of music 
was heard from a distance. A band of country lads, without 
coats, their shirt-sleeves fancifully tied with ribbons, their hats 
decorated with greens, and clubs in their hands, were seen ad- 
vancing up the avenue, followed by a large number of vil- 
lagers and peasantry. They stopped before the hall door, 



50 CHRISTMAS DAY. 

where the music struck up a peculiar air, and the lads performed 
a curious and intricate dance, advancing, retreating, and 
striking their clubs together, keeping exact time to the music; 
while one, whimsically crowned with a fox's skin, the tail of 
which flaunted down his back, kept capering round the skirts 
of the dance, and rattling a Christmas-box with many antic 
gesticulations. 

The 'Squire eyed this fanciful exhibition with great inter- 
est and delight, and gave me a full account of its origin, which 
he traced to the times when the Romans held possession of 
the island ; plainly proving that this was a lineal descendant 
of the sword-dance of the ancients. "It was now," he said, 
" nearly extinct, but he had accidentally met with traces of it 
in the neighborhood, and had encouraged its revival ; though, 
to tell the truth, it was too apt to be followed up by rough 
cudgel-play, and broken heads, in the evening." 

After the dance was concluded, the whole party was en- 
tertained with brawn and beef, and stout home-brewed. The 
'Squire himself mingled among the rustics, and was received 
with awkward demonstrations of deference and regard. It is 
true, I perceived two or three of the younger peasants, as they 
were raising their tankards to their mouths, when the 'Squire's 
back was turned, making something of a grimace, and giving 
each other the wink; but the moment they caught my eye 
they pulled grave faces, and were exceedingly demure. With 
Master Simon, however, they all seemed more at their ease. 
Hi-s varied occupations and amusements had made him well 
known throughout the neighborhood. He was a visitor at 
every farm-house~ and cottage; gossiped with the farmers and 
their wives; romped with their daughters; and, like that type 
of a vagrant bachelor the humble-bee, tolled the sweets from 
all the rosy lips of the country round. 

The bashfulness of the guests soon gave way before good 
cheer and affability. There is something genuine and affec- 
tionate in the gayety of the lower orders, when it is excited 
by the bounty and familiarity of those above them; the warm 
glow of gratitude enters into their mirth, and a kind word or a 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. 51 

small pleasantry frankly uttered by a patron gladdens the 
heart of the dependant more than oil and wine. "When the 
'Squire had retired, the merriment increased, and there was 
much joking ^.nd laughter, particularly between Master Simon 
and a hale, ruddy-faced, white-headed farmer, who appeared 
to be the wit of the village; for I observed all his companions 
to w^ait W'ith open mouths for his retorts, and burst into a 
gratuitous, laugh before they could well understand them. 

The whole house indeed seemed abandoned to merriment. 
As I passed to my room to dress for dinner, I heard the sound 
of music in a small court, and looking through a window that 
commanded it, I perceived a band of wandering musicians, 
with pandean pipes, and tambourine; a pretty coquettish 
housemaid w'as dancing a jig with a smart country lad, while 
several of the other servants w^ere looking on. In the midst 
of her sport, the girl caught a glimpse of my face at the win- 
dow% and coloring up, ran off with an air of roguish affected 
confusion. 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

Lo, now is come our joyful'st feast 1 

Let every man be jolly, 
Each roome with yvie leaves is drest, 
And every post with holly. 

Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, 
And Christmas blocks are burning; 

Their ovens they with bak't meats choke, 
And all their spits are turning, 

Without the door let sorrow lie, 
And if, for cold, it hap to die, 
Wee '1 bury 't in a Christmas pye, 
And evermore be merry. 

Withers, Juvenilia. 

I HAD finished my toilet, and was loitering with Frank 
Bracebridge in the library, when he heard a distant thwack- 
ing sound, wiiich he informed me w^as a signal for the serving 



52 THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

up of the dinner. The 'Squire kept up old customs in kitchen 
as well as hall ; and the rolling-pin struck upon the dresser 
by the cook, summoned the servants to carry in the meats. 

Just in this nick the cook knock 'd thrice, 
And all the waiters in a trice, 

His summons did obey ; 
Each serving man, with dish in hand, 
Marched boldly up, like our train band, 

Presented, and away.* 

The dinner was served up in the great hall, where the 
'Squire always held his Christmas banquet. A blazing crack- 
ling fire of logs had been heaped on to warm the spacious 
apartment, and the flame went sparkling and wreathing up 
the wide-mouthed chimney. The great picture of the cru- 
sader and his white horse had been profusely decorated with 
greens for the occasion ; and holly and ivy had likewise been 
wreathed round the helmet and weapons on the opposite wall, 
which I understood were the arms of the same warrior. I 
must own, by the bye, I had strong doubts about the authen- 
ticity of the painting and armor as having belonged to the 
crusader, they certainly having the stamp of more recent 
days ; but I was told that the painting had been so considered 
time out of mind ; and that, as to the armor, it had been 
found in a lumber-room, and elevated to its present situation 
by the 'Squire, who at once determined it to be the armor 
of the family hero ; and as he was absolute authority on all 
such subjects in his own household, the matter had passed 
into current acceptation. A sideboard was set out just under 
this chivalric trophy, on which was a display of plate that 
might have vied (at least in variety) with Belshazzar's parade 
of the vessels of the temple ; "flagons, cans, cups, beakers, 
goblets, basins, and ewers ; " the gorgeous utensils of good 
companionship that had gradually accumulated through many 
generations of jovial housekeepers. Before these stood the 
two yule candles, beaming like two stars of the first magni- 
tude ; other lights were distributed in branches, and the whole 
array glittered like a firmament of silver. 

* Sir John Suckling. 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. 53 

"We were ushered into this banqueting scene with the 
sound of minstrelsy ; the old harper being seated on a stool 
beside the fire-place, and t^.anging his instrument with a vast 
deal more power than melody. Never did Christmas board 
display a more goodly and gracious assemblage of counte- 
nances ; those who were not handsome, were, at least, happy ; 
and happiness is a rare improver of your hard-favored visage. 
I always consider an old English family as well worth study- 
ing as a collection of Holbein's portraits, or Albert Durer's 
prints. There is much antiquarian lore to be acquired ; much 
knowledge of the physiognomies of former times. Perhaps it 
may be from having continually before their eyes those rows 
of old family portraits, with which the mansions of this coun- 
try are stocked ; certain it is, that the quaint features of 
antiquity are often most faithfully perpetuated in these an- 
cient lines ; and I have traced an old family nose through a 
whole picture gallery, legitimately handed down from genera- 
tion to generation, almost from the time of the Conquest. 
Something of the kind was to be observed in the worthy com- 
pany around me. Many of their faces had evidently origin- 
ated in a Gothic age, and been merely copied by succeeding 
generations ; and there was one little girl, in particular, ot 
staid demeanor, with a high Roman nose, and an antique 
vinegar aspect, who was a great favorite of the 'Squire's, 
being, as he said, a Bracebridge all over, and the very coun- 
terpart of one of his ancestors who figured in the Court of 
Henry VIII. 

The parson said grace, which was not a short familiar 
one, such as is commonly addressed to the Deity in these 
unceremonious days ; but a long, courtly, well- worded one 
of the ancient school. There was now a pause, as if some- 
thing was expected ; when suddenly the butler entered the 
hall with some degree of bustle ; he was attended by a serv- 
ant on each side with a large wax-light, and bore a silver 
dish, on which was an enormous pig's head, decorated with 
rosemary, with a lemon in its mouth, which was placed with 
great formality at the head of the table. The moment this 



54 THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

pageant made its appearance, the harper struck up a flourish ; 
at the conclusion of which the young Oxonian, on receiving 
a nod from the 'Squire, gave, with an air of the most comic 
gravity an old carol, the first verse of which was as follows : 

Caput apri defero 

Reddens laudes Domino. 
The boar's head in hand bring I, 
With garland's gay and rosemary. 
I pray you ail synge merily 

Qui estis in convivio. 

Though pr-epared to witness many of these little eccen- 
tricities, from being apprised of the peculiar hobby of mine 
host ; yet, I confess, the parade with which so odd a dish 
was introduced somewhat perplexed me, until I gathered 
from the conversation of the 'Squire and the parson, that it 
was meant to represent the bringing in of the boar's head — a 
dish formerly served up with much ceremony, and the sound 
of minstrelsy and song, at great tables on Christmas day. "I 
like the old custom," said the 'Squire, "not merely because 
it is stately and pleasing in itself, but because it was observed 
at the college at Oxford, at which I was educated. When I 
hear the old song chanted, it brings to mind the time when 
I was young and gamesome — and the noble old college hall — 
and my fellow-students loitering about in their black gowns ; 
many of whom, poor lads, are now in their graves ! " 

The parson, however, whose mind was not haunted by 
such associations, and who was always more taken up with 
the text than the sentiment, objected to the Oxonian's version 
of the carol ; which he affirmed was difi:erent from that sung 
at college. He went on, with the dry perseverance of a com- 
mentator, to give the college reading, accompanied by sundry 
annotations ; addressing himself at first to the company at 
large ; but finding their attention gradually diverted to other 
talk, and other objects, he lowered his tone as his number of 
auditors diminished, until he concluded his remarks in an 
under voice, to a fat-headed old gentleman next him, w^ho 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. . 65 

was silently engaged in the discussion of a huge plateful of 
turkey.* 

The table was literally loaded with good cheer, and pre- 
sented an epitome of country abundance, in this season of 
overflowing larders. A distinguished post was allotted to 
"ancient sirloin," as mine host termed it; being, as he 
added, "the standard of old English hospitality, and a joint 
of goodly presence, and full of expectation." There were 
several dishes quaintly decorated, and which had evidently 
something traditional in their embellishments ; but about 
which, as I did not like to appear over-curious, I asked no 
questions. 

I could not, however, but notice a pie, magnificently 
decorated with peacocks' feathers, in imitation of the tail of 
that "bird, which overshadowed a considerable tract of the 
table. This, the 'Squire confessed, with some little hesitation, 
was a pheasant pie, though a peacock pie was certainly the 
most authentical ; but there had been such a mortality among 

* The old ceremony of serving up the boar's head on Christmas day, is 
still observed in the hall of Queen's College, Oxford. I was favored by the 
parson with a copy of the carol as now sung, and as it may be acceptable 
to such of my readers as are curious in these grave and learned matters, I 
give it entire: 

The boar's head in hand bear I, 
Bedeck'd with bays and rosemary ; * 

And I pray you, my masters, be merry, 
Quot estis in convivio, 

Caput apri defero. 

Reddens Jaudes Domino. 

The boar's head as I understand, 
Is the rarest dish in all this land, 
Which thus bedeck'd with a gay garland 
Let us servire cantico. 
Caput apri defero, etc. 

Our steward hath provided this 
In honor of the King of BUss, 
Which on this day to be served is 
In Riginensl Atrio. 
Caput apri defero. 
Etc., etc., etc. 



56 THE CHRISTMAS DINIsrER. 

the peacocks this season, that he could not prevail upon him- 
self to have one killed.* 

It would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser readers, who may 
not have that foolish fondness for odd and obsolete things to 
which I am a little given, were I to mention the other make- 
shifts of this worthy old humorist, by which he was endeavor- 
ing to follow up, though at humble distance, the quaint cus- 
toms of antiquity, I was pleased, however, to see the respect 
shown to his whims by his children and relatives ; who, in- 
deed, entered readily into the full spirit of them, and seemed 
all well versed in their parts ; having doubtless been present 
at many a rehearsal. I was amused, too, at the air of pro- 
found gravity with which the butler and other servants exe- 
cuted the duties assigned them, however eccentric. They 
had an old-fashioned look ; having for the most part, been 
brought up in the household, and grown into keeping with 
th^ antiquated mansion, and the humors of its lord ; and 
most probably looked upon all his whimsical regulations as 
the established laws of honorable housekeeping. 

When the cloth was removed, the butler brought in a huge 
silver vessel, of rare and curious workmanship, which he 
placed before the 'Squire. Its appearance was hailed with 
acclamation ; being the Wassail Bowl, so renowned in Christ- 
mas festivity. The contents had been prepared by the 'Squire 
himself ; for it was a beverage, in the skilful mixture of 

* The peacock was anciently in great demand for stately entertainments. 
Sometimes it was made into a pie, at one end of which the head appeared 
above the crust in all its plumage, with the beak richly gilt ; at the other 
end the tail was displayed. Such pies were served up at the solemn ban- 
quets of chivalry, when Knights errant pledged themselves to undertake 
any perilous enterprise, whence came the ancient oatti, used by Justice 
Shallow, " by cock and pie." 

The peacock was also an important dish for the Christmas feast; and 
Massinger, in his City Madam, gives some idea of the extravagance with 
which this, as well as other dishes, was prepared for the gorgeous revels of 
the olden times: 

Men may talk of Country Christmases. 

Their thirty pound butter'd eggs, their pies of carps' tongues: 

Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris; ihe carcases of three fat 
wethers bruised for gravy to make sauce for a single peacock ! 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. 5'7 

which he particularly prided himself ; alleging that it was 
too abstruse and complex for the comprehension of an ordin- 
ary servant. It was a potation, indeed, that might well make 
the heart of a toper leap within him ; being composed of the 
richest and raciest wines, highly spiced and sweetened, with 
roasted apples bobbing about the surface * 

The old gentleman's whole countenance beamed with a 
serene look of indwelling delight, as he stirred this mighty 
bowl. Having raised it to his lips, with a hearty wish of a 
merry Christmas to all present, he sent it brimming round 
the board, for every one to follow his example according to 
the primitive style ; pronouncing it " the ancient fountain of 
good feeling, where all hearts met together." f 

There was much laughing and rallying, as the honest em- 
blem of Ghristmas joviality circulated, and was kissed rather 
coyly by the ladies. But when it reached Master Simon, he 
raised it in both hands, and with the air of a boon companion, 
struck up an old Wassail Chanson : 

The brown bowle, 
The merry brown bowle, 
As it goes round aboute-a, 
Fill 
, Still, 

Let the world say what it will, 
And drink your fill aU out-a. 



*The Wassail Bowl was sometimes composed of ale instead of wine; 
with nutmeg, sugar, toast, ginger, aad roasted crabs; in this way the nut- 
brown beverage is still prepared in some old families, and round the hearth 
of substantial farmers at Christmas. It is also called Lamb's Wool, and it 
it celebrated by Herrick in his Twelfth Night: 

Next crowne the bowle full 
With gentle Lamb's Wool, 
Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, 
With store of ale too, 
And thus ye must doe 
To make the Wassaile a swinger. 
+ " The custom of drinldng out of the same cup gave place to each having 
bis cup. When the steward came to the doore with the Wassel, he was to 
cry three times, Wassel, Wassel, Wassel, and then the chappell (chaplain) 
was to answer with a song.''^—Arch(Bologia. 



6S THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

The deep caime, 

The merry deep canne, 

As thou dost freely quaff -a, 

Sing 

Fling, 
Be as merry as a king, 
And sound a lusty laugh-a.* 

Much of the conversation during dinner turned upon 
family topics, to which I was a stranger. There was, how- 
ever, a great deal of rallying of Master Simon about some gay 
widow, with whom he was accused of having a flirtation. 
This attack was commenced by the ladies ; but it was con- 
tinued throughout the dinner by the fat-headed old gentle- 
man next the parson, with the persevering assiduity of a slow 
hound ; being one of these long-winded jokers, who, though 
rather dull at starting game, are unrivalled for their talents 
in hunting it down. At every pause in the general conversa- 
tion, he renewed his bantering in pretty much the same 
terms ; winking hard at me with both eyes, whenever he gave 
Master Simon what he considered a home thrust. The latter, 
indeed, seemed fond of being teased on the subject, as old 
bachelors are apt to be ; and he took occasion to inform me, 
in an undertone, that the lady in question was a prodigiously 
fine woman and drove her own curricle. 

The dinner-time passed away in this flow of innocent 
hilarity, and though the old hall may have resounded in its 
time with many a scene of broader rout and revel, yet I doubt 
whether it ever witnessed more honest and genuine enjoyment. 
How easy it is for one benevolent being to diffuse pleasure 
around him ; and how truly is a kind heart a fountain of 
gladness, making everything in its vicinity co freshen into 
smiles ! The joyous disposition of the worthy 'Squire was 
perfectly contagious ; he was happy himself, and disposed to 
make all the world happy ; and the little eccentricities of his 
humor did but season, in a manner, the sweetness of his 
philanthropy. 

* From Poor Robin's Almanack. 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. 50 

When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as nsual, 
became still more animated. 

The 'Squire told several long stories of early college pranks 
and adventures, in some of which the parson had been a 
sharer ; though in looking at the latter, it required some 
effort of imagination to figure such a little dark anatomy of 
a man, into the perpetrator of a madcap gambol. Indeed, 
the two college chums presented pictures of what men may 
be made by their different lots in life : the 'Squire had left 
the university to live lustily on his paternal domains, in the 
vigorous enjoyment of prosperity and sunshine, and had 
flourished on to a hearty and florid old age ; w^hilst the poor 
parson, on the contrary, had dried and withered away, among 
dusty tomes, in the silence and shadows of his study. Still 
there seemed to be a spark of almost extinguished fire, feebly 
glimmering in the bottom of his soul ; and, as the 'Squire 
hinted at a sly story of the parson and a pretty milkmaid 
whom they once met on the banks of the Isis, the old gentle- 
man made an " alphabet of faces," w^hich, as far as I could 
deciper his physiognomy, I verily believe was indicative of 
laughter, — indeed, I have rarely met with an old gentleman 
that took absolute offence at the imputed gallantries of his 
youth. 

After the dinner-table was removed, the hall was given 
up to the younger members of the family, who, prompted to 
all kind of noisy mirth by the Oxonian and Master Simon, 
made its old walls ring with their merriment, as they played 
at romping games. I delight in witnessing the gambols of 
children, and particularly at this happy holiday season, and 
could not help stealing out of the drawing-room on hearing 
one of their peals of laughter. I found them at the game of 
blind-man's-buff. Master Simon, who w^as the leader of their 
revels, and seemed on all occasions to fulfil the office of that 
ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule,* w^as blinded in the 

*At Christmas there was in the Kinoes house, wheresoever hee was 
lodged, a Jorde of misrule, or mayster of merie disportes, and the lik-e lad 
ye in the house of every nobleman of honor; or good worshippe, were he 
spirituall or temporall.— Stow, 



60 THE CHRISTMAS DlNNEU. 

midst of the hall. The little beings were as busy about him 
as the mock fairies about Falstaff ; pinching him, plucking 
at the skirts of his coat, and tickling him with straws. One 
fine blue-eyed girl of about thirteen, with her flaxen hair all 
in beautiful confusion, her frolic face in a glow, her frock 
half torn off her shoulders, a complete picture of a romp, 
was the chief tormentor ; and from the slyness with which 
Master Simon avoided the smaller game, and hemmed this 
wild little nymph in corners, and obliged her to jump shriek- 
ing over chairs, I suspected the rogue of being not a whit 
more blinded than was convenient. 

When I returned to the drawing-room, I found the com- 
pany seated round the fire, listening to the parson, who was 
deeply ensconced in a high-backed oaken chair, the work of 
some cunning artificer of yore, which had been brought from 
the library for his particular accommodation. From this 
venerable piece of furniture, with which his shadowy figure 
and dark weazen face so admirably accorded, he was dealing 
forth strange accounts of the popular superstitions and legends 
of the surrounding country, with which he had become ac- 
quainted in the course of his antiquarian researches. I am 
inclined to think that the old gentleman was himself somewhat 
tinctured with superstition, as men are very apt to be, who 
live a recluse and studious life in a sequestered part of the 
country, and pour over black-letter tracts, so often filled with 
the marvellous and supernatural. He gave us several anec- 
dotes of the fancies of the neighboring peasantry, concerning 
the effigy of the crusader, which lay on the tomb by the church 
altar. As it was the only monument of the kind in that part 
of the country, it had always been regarded with feelings of 
superstition by the good wives of the village. It was said to 
get up from the tomb and walk the rounds of the churchyard 
in stormy nights, particularly when it thundered ; and one 
old woman whose cottage bordered on the churchyard, had 
seen it through the windows of the church, when the moon 
shone, slowly pacing up and down the aisles. It was the 
belief that some wrong had been left unredressed by the de- 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. 61 

ceased, or some treasure hidden, which kept the spirit in a 
state of trouble and restlessness. Some talked of gold and 
jewels buried in the tomb, over which the spectre kept watch ; 
and there was a story current of a sexton, in old times, who 
endeavored to break his way to the coffin at night ; but jusg 
as he reached it received a violent blow from the marble 
hand of the effigy, which stretched him senseless on the pave- 
ment. These tales were often laughed at by some of the 
sturdier among the rustics ; yet, when night came on, there 
were many of the stoutest unbelievers that were shy of vent- 
uring alone in the footpath that led across the churchyard. 

From these and other anecdotes that followed, the crusader 
appeared to be the favorite hero of ghost stories throughout 
the vicinity. His picture, which hung up in the hall, was 
thought by the servants to have something supernatural about 
it : for they remarked that, in whatever part of the hall you 
went, the eyes of the warrior were still fixed on you. The 
old porter's wife, too, at the lodge, who had been born and 
brought up in the family, and was a great gossip among the 
maid-servants, affirmed, that in her young days she had often 
heard say, that on Midsummer eve, when it was well known 
all kinds of ghosts, goblins, and fairies, become visible and 
walk abroad, the crusader used to mount his horse, come 
down from his picture, ride about the house, down the avenue, 
and so to the church to visit the tomb ; on which occasion 
the church door most civilly swung open of itself ; not that 
he needed it — for he rode through closed gates and even stone 
walls, and had been seen by one of the dairy-maids to pass 
between two bars of the great park gate, making himself as 
thin as a sheet of paper. 

All these superstitions I found had been very much coun- 
tenanced by the Squire, who though not superstitious himself, 
was very fond of seeing others so. He listened to every 
goblin tale of the neighboring gossips with infinite gravity, 
and held the porter's wife in high favor on account of her 
talent for the marvelous. He was himself a great reader of 
old legends and romances, and often lamented that he could 



62 THE CHRISTMAS DITSNER. 

not believe in them ; for a superstitious person, he thought, 
must live in a kind of fairy land. 

Whilst we were all attention to the parson's stories, our 
ears were suddenly assailed by a burst of heterogeneous sounds 
from the hall, in which were mingled something like the clang 
of rude minstrelsy, with the uproar of many small voices and 
girlish laughter. The door suddenly flew open, and a train 
came trooping into the room, that might almost have been 
mistaken for the breaking up of the court of Fairy. That 
indefatigable spirit. Master Simon, in the faithful discharge of 
his duties as lord of misrule, had conceived the idea of a 
Christmas mummery, or masking ; and having called in to 
his assistance the Oxonian and the young officer, who were 
equally ripe for anything that should occasion romping and 
merriment, they had carried it into instant effect. The old 
housekeeper had been consulted ; the antique clothes-presses 
and wardrobes rummaged, and made to yield up the relics of 
finery that had not seen the light for several generations : the 
younger part of the company had been privately convened 
from parlor and hall, and the whole had been bedizened out, 
into a burlesque imitation of an antique masque.* 

Master Simon led the van as "Ancient Christmas," 
quaintly apparelled in a ruff, short cloak, which had very 
much the aspect of one 6f the old housekeeper's petticoats, 
and a hat that might have served for a village steeple and 
must indubitably have figured in the days of the Covenanters. 
From under this, his nose curved boldly forth, flushed with a 
frost-bitten bloom that seemed the very trophy of a December 
blast. He was accompanied by the blue-eyed romp, dished 
up as "Dame Mince Pie," in the venerable magnificence of 
faded brocade, long stomacher, peaked hat and high-heeled 
shoes. 

The young officer appeared as Robin Hood, in a sporting 
dress of Kendal green, and a foraging cap with a gold tassel. 

* Maskings or mummeries were favorite sports at Christmas, in old times, 
and the wardrobes at halls and manor-houses were often laid under contribu- 
tion to furnish dresses and fantastic disguisings. I strongly suspect Master 
Simon to have taken the idea of bis from Ben Jonson's Mask of Christmas. 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. 63 

The costume, to be sure, did not bear testimony to deep 
research, and there was an evident eye to the picturesque 
natural to a young gallant in presence of his mistress. The 
fair Julia hung on his arm in a pretty rustic dress, as " Maid 
Marian." The rest of the train had been metamorphosed in 
various ways ; the girls trussed up in the finery of the ancient 
belles of the Bracebridge line, and the striplings bewhiskered 
with burnt cork, and gravely clad in broad skirts, hanging 
sleeves, and full-bottomed wigs, to represent the characters 
of Koast Beef, Plum Pudding, and other worthies celebrated 
in ancient maskings. The whole was under the control of the 
Oxonian, in the appropriate character of Misrule ; and I ob- 
served that he exercised rather a mischievous sway with his 
wand over the smaller personages of the pageant. 

The irruption of this motley crew, with beat of drum, ac- 
cording to ancient custom, was the consummation of uproar 
and merriment. Master Simon covered himself with glory 
by the stateliness with which, as Ancient Christmas, he walked 
a minuet with the peerless, though giggling. Dame Mince Pie. 
It w^as followed by a dance from all the characters, which, 
from its medley of costumes, seemed as though the old family 
portraits had skipped down from their frames to join in the 
sport. Different centuries were figuring at cross- hands and 
right and left ; the Dark Ages were cutting pirouettes and 
rigadoons ; and the days of Queen Bess, jigging merrily down 
the middle, through a line of succeeding generations. 

The worthy 'Squire contemplated these fantastic sports, 
and this resurrection of his old wardrobe, with the simple 
relish of childish delight. He stood chuckling and rubbing 
his hands, and scarcely hearing a word the parson said, not- 
withstanding that the latter was discoursing most authenti- 
cally on the ancient and stately dance of the Pavon, or peacock, 
from which he conceived the minuet to be derived.* For my 

* Sir John Hawkins, speaking of the dance called the Pavon, from pavo, 
a peacock, says, "It is a grave and majestic dance: the method of dancing 
it anciently was by gentlemen dressed with caps and swords, by those of 
the long robe in their gowns; by the peers in their mantles, and by the 
ladies in gowns with long trains, the motion whereof, in dancing, resembled 
that of a i)ea,cock.— History of Music. 



64 THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

part, I was in a continual excitement from the varied scenes of 
whim and innocent gayety passing before me. It was inspir-. 
ing to see wild-eyed frolic and warm-hearted hospitality break- 
ing out from among the chills and glooms of winter, and old 
age throwing off his apathy, and catching once more the fresh- 
ness of youthful enjoyment. I felt also an interest in the 
scene, from the consideration that these fleeting customs were 
posting fast into oblivion, and that this was perhaps, the only 
family in England in which the whole of them were still 
punctilliously observed. There was a quaintness, too, mingled 
with all this revelry, that gave it a peculiar zest : it was suited 
to the time and place ; and as the old Manor-house almost 
reeled with mirth and wassail, it seemed echoing back the 
joviality of long-departed years. 



But enough of Christmas and its gambols ; it is time for 
me to pause in this garrulity. Methinks I hear the question 
asked by my graver readers, "To what purpose is all this — 
how is the world to be made wiser by this talk ? " Alas ! is 
there not wisdom enough extant for the instruction of the 
world ? And if not, are there not thousands of abler pens 
laboring for its improvement ? — It is so much pleasanter to 
please than to instruct— to play the companion rather than 
the preceptor. 

What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could throw 
into the mass of knowledge ; or how am I sure that my sagest 
deductions may be safe guides for the opinions of others ? 
But in writing to amuse, if I fail, the only evil is my own 
disappointment. If, however, I can by any lucky chance, in 
these days of evil, rub out one wrinkle from the brow of care, 
or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of sorrow— if I can 
now and then penetrate through the gathering film of misan- 
thropy, prompt a benevolent view of human nature, and 
make my reader more in good humor with his fellow beings 
and himself, surely, surely, I shall not then have written en- 
tirely in vain, 



English Classic Series, 

FOR 

Classes in English Literature, Reading, Grammar, etc. 

EDITED BY EMINENT ENGLISH AND AMERICAN SCHOLARS. 

Each Volume contains a Sketch of the Author's Life, Prefatory a^id 
Explanatory Notes, etc., etc. 



1 Byron's Prophecy of Dante. 

(Cantos I. and II.) 
» Milton's L.'Allegro, and II Pen- 
seroso. 

3 Ijoid Bacon's Essays, Civil and 

3Ioi-al. (Selected) 

4 liyrou's Prisoner of Chillon, 

5 Moore's Fire Worshippers. 

(L'llla Rookh. Selected.) 

6 Goldsmith's Deserted Village. 

7 Scott's Marinion. (Selections 

from Canto VI.) 

8 Scott'sLay of the L.ast Minstrel. 

(Introduction and Canto I ) 

9 Burns' s Cotter's Saturday Night, 

and otlier Poems. 

10 Crabhe's The Village. 

11 Campbell's Pleasures of Hope. 

(Abridgment of pMct 1.) 
13 Macaulay's Kssay <>u Bunyan's 
Pilgrim's Progress. 

13 Macaulay's Armada, and oilier 

14 Sh;»Uespear«''s Merchant of Ve- 

nice. (Selections from Acts L, 
II (..and IV.) 

15 Goldsmith's Traveller. 

16 Hogg's Queen's Wake, andKil- 

meny. 

17 Coeridge's Ancient Mariner. 

18 Addison's Sir lloger de Cover- 

ley. 

19 Gray's Elegy in a Country 

Churchyard. 

20 Scott'sliady of theL,ake. (Canto 

I.» 
31 Shakespeare's As You liike It, 
etc. (Selections) 

22 Shakespeare's King John, and 

Richard 11. (Selections.) 

23 Shakespeare's Henry IV., Hen- 

ry v., Henry VI. (Selections.) 

24 Shakespeare's Henry VIII., and 

Julius Caesar. (Selections.) 

25 Wordsworth's E:icnrsion. (Bk.I.) 

26 Pope's Essay on Criticism. 

2 7 Spenser's Faerie Queene. (Cantos 
I. and II.) 

28 Cowper's Task. (Rook I.) 

29 Milton's Com us. 

30 Tennyson's Enoch Arden, The 

Iiotus Eaters, Ulysses, and 
Tithonus. 

{Additional number 



31 Irving's Sketch Book. (Selec- 

tions.) 

32 Dickens's Christmas Carol. 

(Condensed.) 

33 Carlyle's Hei'o as a Prophet. 

34 Macaulay's Warren Hastings. 

(Condensed.) 

35 Goldsmith's Vicar of Wake- 

field. (Condensed ) 

36 Tennyson's The Two Voices, 

and a Dream of Fair Women. 

37 Memory Quotations. 

38 Cavalier Poets. 

39 Diyden's Alexander's Feast, 

and MacFlecknoe. 

40 Keats' The Eve of St. Agnes. 

41 Irving's Legend of Sleepy Hol- 

low. 

42 Lamb's Tales from Shake- 

speare. 

43 Le How's How to Teach Bead- 

ing. 

44 Webster's Bunker Hill Ora- 

tions. 

45 The Academy OrthoJjpist. A 

Mnmi il of Pronunciali(Mi. 

46 Milton's Lycidas, and Hymn 

on the Nativity. 

47 Bryant's Thanaitopsis, and other' 

Poems. 

48 Buskin's Modern Painters, 

(Selections.) 

49 The Shakespeare Speaker. 

50 Thackeray's Roundabout Pa- 

pers. 

51 Webster's Oration on Adams 

and Jeiferson. 

52 Brown's Rah and His Friends. 

53 Morris's Life and Death of 

Jason. 

54 Bnrke's Speech on American 

Taxation. 

55 Pope's Rape of the Lock. 

56 Tennyson's Elaine. 

57 Tf^nnyson's In Memoriam. 

58 Church's Story of the ^neid. 

59 Church's Story of the Tliad. 

60 Swift's Gulliver's Voyage to 

Lilliput. 

61 Macaulay's Essay on Lord Ba- 

con. ( Condensed. > 
63 The Alcestis of Euripides. Eng- 

lish Version by Rev. R. Potter,M.A. 
5 on next page.) 



English Classic Series—continued. 



6^ The Antigone of Sophocles. 

English Version by Thos. Fraiick= 

lin, D.D. 
64 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

(Selected Poems.) 
S5 Robert Browning. (Selected 

Poems.) 

66 Addison, The Spectator. (Sel'ns.) 

67 Scenes from Creorge Eliot's 

Adam Bede. 

68 Matthew Arnold's Cultnre and 

Anarchy. 

69 DeQuincey's Joan of Arc. 

70 Cariyle's Essay on Bums. 

71 Byron's Cbilde Harold's Pil- 

grimage. 

72 Poe's Raven, and other Poems. 

73 & 74 Macaulay's I^ord CUve. 

(Double Number.) 
75 "Webster's Keply to B[ayne. 



76 & 77 Macanlay's liays of A 
cient Borne. (Double Numbe 

78 American Patriotic Selection 

I>eclaration of Independenc 
"Washington's Farewell A- 
dress, Lincoln's Getty^bui 
Speech, etc. 

79 & 80 Scott's liady of the I^alr 

(Condensed.) 
81 & 83 Scott's Marmion. (Co 

densed.) 
83 & 84 Pope's Essay on Man. 

85 Shelley's Skylark, Adonals, ar 

other Poems. 

86 Dickens's Cricket on th 

Hearth, 

87 Spencer's Philosophy of StyU 

88 lianib's Assays of Elia. 

89 Cowper's Task, Book II. 

90 Wordsworth.'s Selected Poemt 



Single numbers f 32 to 64 pp. Mailing price f 12 cento per copy, 
J}»uble nurnberSf 75 to t2S pp. Mailing price, 24 eenttt per copy* 

Special Prices to Teachers. 



SPECIAL NUMBERS. 



Milton*s Paradise Lost. Book I. With portrait and bi( 



_cal sketch of Milton, essay on his genius, epitome of the views of the bes ^ 
own critics, Milton's verse, argument, and full introductory and explanator 



grapM 
known 



notes. Bound in boards. Mailing price, 30 cents. 



Milton's Paradise Liost. Books I. and II. With portrait an 
biographical sketch of Miicon, his verse; essay on his genius, epitome of the vieiR 
©f ttie best^known critics, argument, and full introductory ana axplanatory note- 
Bound in boards. Mailing priee, 40 cents. 



Wykes's Shakespeare Reader. Being extracts f rom th 

Plays of Shakespeare, with introductory paragraphs, and grammatical, historica 
and explanatory notes. By C. H. Wykks. 160 pp., 16mo, cloth. Mailing pric- 

35 cents. 



Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales. The Prologue. Th< ^; 

text collated with the seven oldest MSS., a portrait and biographical sketch of th« i 
author, introductory notices, grammar, critical and explanatory notes, index tc ; 
obsolete and difficult words, argmnent and characters of the prologue, brief historj . 
of EngUsh language to time of Chaucer, and glossary. Bound in boards. _ Mailini | 
tyrice,3S cents. .) * 



Chaucer's The Squieres Tale. With portrait and biograph-^^ 
Icai sketch ©f author, introduction to his grammar and versification, glossary, ex ' 
aminatlon papers, and full explanatory notes. Bound iu boards. Mailing price ! 
35 cents. _^ . 



Chaucer's The Knightes Tale. With portrait and bio- 
graphical sketch of author, essay on his language, history of the EngUsh language ; 
to time of CJhaucer, glessary, and full explanatory notes. Bound in beards. Muu- 1 

ing price, 40 cents. - 

With biographical 

" -tt» And three 

ing price, 



Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer. 

sketch of author, introduction, dedication, Garrick's Prolo 
intended epilogues, and full explanatory notes. Bound In 
39 cents, _____=____=____„ 



WmJL ©S86«WFiWl CATALQQIli 81WT ©N APPUeAT!©«fe 



